Muse
by Princess Kitty1
Summary: -AU- "You'll always be a whore, just like your mother." Those words had been her undoing. Now years later, amidst the brokenness of her life there came this strange man, asking for what no one else ever had: Her heart.  UlquiHime  – Dark Fic-
1. The Prostitute

**A/N: **Hello all! My name is Princess Kitty1 and I welcome you to my second UlquiHime fic. However, before we get started, I have a few warnings for all of you. **If you are looking for a happy, fluffy story about sunshine and rainbows**, feel free to hit the back button on your browser. **If you are expecting cheerful, bubbly, airheaded Orihime**, again, the back button is right there. You could even hit backspace on your keyboard.

The cast featured in this story will be in character, but out of it at the same time. Does that make sense? As far as Ulquiorra and Orihime go, consider this a tiny role reversal. Very, very tiny. He isn't going to be a bucket of smiles either. This is a _**dark fic**_, but I _do _promise plenty of humor in future chapters!

Full Summary: Orihime Inoue has lived a short life of abuse, alcoholism, and prostitution. Upon fainting one night, she finds herself in a tidy apartment with no recollection as to how she got there. She leaves in a hurry, but the loss of her most prized possession leads her back to the doorstep of a quiet man who has lost an important 'something' of his own…

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach or any of its characters.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**The Prostitute**

"_You'll always be a whore, just like your mother."_ Orihime Inoue recalled these words often, spoken in a drunken slur by her disgusting excuse of a father when she was merely six years old. It was one in a series of bad memories; she didn't have many good ones. He had said this just hours after he had raped her for the first of what would become many times. Between the act and the statement she had been in the shower, furiously scrubbing at her body until her skin had gone red and raw, painful to the touch. A sad attempt at erasing what couldn't be undone. From that day forward, she was as worthless as he said she was.

It was little surprise, then, when her elementary school teacher had held her after class on the pretense that she had done poorly on an assignment and proceeded to rape her as well. She had been numb to it. She should have screamed for help, scratched and kicked and fought for her freedom. She could have prevented it, but those words uttered from her father's alcohol-flavored lips had imprinted themselves within her, eventually silencing her quiet protests. They were at the forefront of her mind, visible every time she closed her eyes, bright and bold against the darkness.

Whore. Just like Mom. She was a whore, a whore, a whore…

The attention given to her body had triggered an early puberty. Her chest had grown to grotesque proportions, weighing her down, a physical reminder of the burden she carried. It had drawn the eyes of teachers and students and strangers alike, and when either suggested a little fun, she went along with it. Her purity was gone, her reputation tarnished before it could even be built. She was trash, good for nothing and ready to be put out. It wasn't until high school, though, that she had thought to make money off of it.

Her friends hadn't known what she was doing. Her brother hadn't known either. God, if her brother had ever found out… her brother, the only good thing in her miserable life after their parents had passed away… her brother, who had died and left her alone so suddenly. In a way, she was glad he had gone. He would never have to know that his adorable little sister, the most precious thing in the world to him, was the girl treating guys between classes for some extra spending money.

But it was his death that had indirectly caused her to be discovered. In her grief she became careless, not minding the people watching her extra close until one day, the secret was out, the jig was up. Her friends never looked at her or spoke to her again. She was expelled from school, accused by the same slime-covered teachers she had stayed after class with for "extra credit" in an effort to keep themselves from being found out. And she left willingly, making sure to give the principal a clear view of her middle finger before she'd slung her backpack over her shoulder and walked out, heels clacking against the cool tiled floor. _Good riddance_.

If there was anything that prostitution had taught her, it was that she didn't need a high school degree to make money. There were plenty of detestable men in the world willing to pay for a good time with a minor. She earned such a killing on weekends that she could go out, get as drunk as she wanted and still have enough leftover to pay the rent on her cheap, dirty apartment. It suited her, she thought. Used, abused, and cockroach infested.

She could afford nice clothes, nice jewelry, food and over-the-counter medicines when she needed them. STD clinics tested for free, and thankfully she was clean due to her own strict rules in regards to the men she slept with. She was twenty years old – almost twenty-one –, smart and in good health.

Life may not have been worth living, but at least it was livable.

…

Orihime had never bought into the whole "sex is for soul mates" bullshit fed to her by the media. When it came to it, all she did was lie back – or bend over – and spread her legs, fake an orgasm or two. She knew exactly when to make her moans and pants increase, how to give her client a smoldering look that had him crossing the finish line in seconds, how to writhe and arch her back _just right_.

Tonight was no different. She stared distractedly out the window, vaguely aware of motion, trying to remember this guy's name. He was a soldier, just back from the war. He'd risked his life for the freedom she had to parade herself down the street in gaudy attire, stealing business from pimp-owned girls just to piss them off; the least she could do was remember his damn name. What the hell had it even started with? Oh well. She'd only be in trouble if he, like many others in the past, would get up the gall to order her to say his name in between the jingling of his dog tags and those ridiculous grunting noises he was making. She fought back a smile, trying to stay in character. Insert moan here. Tell him, _Yes, baby, keep it coming_. Cry out a bit. Stroke his ego, among other things. He wasn't going to hold out much longer. It had already been half an hour. Damn those soldiers and their stamina. She had other clients to see tonight.

When it was all said and done, she collected her discarded clothing and began to redress as the soldier lit up a cigarette and watched her somewhat hungrily. "You're awful young," he noted, wiping sweat from the back of his neck. "What are you doin' this for? Girl like you should be in college." Orihime merely shrugged, pulling her tank top on over her head, tugging it over her voluminous chest, then collecting her hair into a messy ponytail. "Most of the prostitutes around here are working to get out of this hellhole," he went on, blowing out a cloud of noxious smoke. "You ain't got dreams or anything?"

She decided to grace him with an answer. "Nah, nothing like that." Her eyes flickered to the glowing end of the cigarette, watching the curling smoke. Add another touch of lip gloss, and there, she was good to go. She slipped into her heels and strode over to the door, giving the soldier a bored look. "I'm already fulfilling my destiny."

He chuckled and lifted his cigarette to her in a mock toast. "Here, here."

Orihime sighed as she stepped out into the hallway, weaving past two small children playing tag in the motel corridor. She dug through her purse, withdrawing the wad of cash she'd received from the nameless soldier and maneuvering it into her wallet. Watching him light up had prodded her craving for a cigarette. Luckily the corner store was two doors down. The clerk behind the checkout desk glanced up at her as her heels clacked against the floor. "Good night, Ms. Inoue."

"Night Rob." She waved tiredly, feeling the irritation gnawing at the back of her mind. Outside, the weather was humid and sticky, the heat suffocating as the end of summer rolled in. She could feel it rippling off of the pavement, having been absorbed all throughout the daylight hours. It was one of those nights, she decided. She wasn't much into smoking but every once in a while her nicotine craving would give her a smart kick in the skull, and when it did, she had to satisfy it before her patience ran too thin. It was usually on these cigarette-hunting nights that she got really, _really _drunk… but not before servicing her clients. They may have been up for a lot of things, but most of them didn't appreciate being puked on.

Tonight's excursion would take her into the Hueco Mundo district. There were a plethora of good bars there, she thought cheerfully as she entered the too-bright corner store. She picked out the cheapest pack of cigarettes they had to offer and a fifty-cent plastic lighter in green, her favorite color, before stepping back out into the muggy night. Shaking one cigarette onto her hand, she stuck it between her teeth and tucked the rest of the pack into her purse. _Just one smoke, _she thought, scowling as the lighter refused to come to life after several strikes. _One smoke, then business, then beer. Awesome._

Finally the stupid thing lit. She took a good drag, feeling the smoke fill her lungs, poisoning her to a death she was far too afraid to face. Had it not been for the fact that, upon dying, she would have to see her beloved brother and explain her lifestyle choices to him, she'd have killed herself years ago. After all, she'd had plenty of chances. It wasn't like anyone would miss her.

The night was alive with crowds lining up outside of dance clubs and tourists drinking in the city life. Orihime exhaled, smoke leaving her mouth in a steady stream. She never thought too much about the people around her. They always looked like they were having so much fun; this city was just one of many pit stops on the roads of their lives. She felt lost among crowds. A car stuck in traffic, a ship lost at sea… just one in billions, unimportant, undeserving of the happiness she saw reflected in everyone else's eyes.

She cut her thoughts off by violently stamping out her cigarette, which had slipped from her shaking hands. She needed to get through with this and get drunk quickly, lest she end up a crying mess in her apartment again. Giving in to such weak thoughts… she wouldn't allow it.

Her next two clients were simple enough. One of them was a regular who drifted into the city every now and then for work trips. He liked to tell her that visiting her was his favorite part of the trip, despite the fact that he was married with children. _Shameless bastard_, Orihime thought, though on the outside she was the picture of lust and seduction, a wanton vixen with everything to give and nothing to inhibit her from doing so. Guys went nuts for that kind of thing.

And with those three clients, she had made close to five hundred dollars. Her rates weren't exactly cheap these days. After all, people like her were in demand during the last month of summer, before everyone went back to school or work, leaving behind fun for responsibility. Once Orihime was finished with her rounds, she found her way to a recently opened all-night diner. It was the kind of place she'd have expected to see off a highway exit for truckers in need of coffee. Upon opening the door, her nostrils were filled with the scent of greasy food, causing her stomach to growl. But she had learned the hard way that eating anything before getting drunk would only make the bile taste that much more disgusting, so she ignored the menu items and went straight for the beer.

Two drinks later, her thoughts were quieting. Two more and they were all but gone. One after that, the bright neon signs in the diner were making her head hurt and, for some reason, she was counting the notches in the wooden bar. "Geez," she muttered as she struggled to get out the appropriate amount of money to cover her drinks.

"Hey, Miss, you want me to call you a cab?" someone offered, though she wasn't entirely sure where the voice had come from. Everyone's faces, male and female, were blurring together.

"No, I'm… I'm fine," Orihime insisted, putting the money down and sliding off of the bar stool. "Keep the change." She stumbled out of the diner, her stomach turning as soon as she drank in the oppressively humid air. It smelled like it was about to rain, but the scent bothered her. Everything stank. Her cuffed shorts were giving her a serious wedgie, which she would have loved to dig out had there not been so many people around. Stopping and peering down an alley, she figured she could cut through there and pick the fabric out of her butt. Besides, it was a faster way home… maybe.

Shoot, which way was she even going? She always got confused in the Hueco Mundo district, and being smashed didn't help matters much. Her hand fell onto the lid of a dumpster and, realizing what she was touching, Orihime's stomach twisted and pitched to the side. She managed to get two steps away from it before she doubled over, vomiting violently. Her insides heaved uncomfortably, her temples throbbing. She mumbled an unintelligible curse as she realized she'd gotten puke on her tank top. "Ugh…" There was another one she'd have to throw away. At least this time the only mysterious stain on her clothing had been caused by her own stupidity and not some guy's shoddy aim.

Straightening, Orihime groaned as her entire world spun in a quick circle around her head. She took another step forward, but the rocking boat sensation worsened. She knew what this feeling was; she was about to faint. Her eyes locked onto the end of the alley. She could see pedestrians walking, cars passing, help just a few feet away. But she didn't make it much farther. Her legs gave out, her ankle twisting on her four-inch heels, knees scraping the grime-covered pavement as she collapsed, her monstrous chest somewhat cushioning her fall.

She had to turn onto her side. There was no way she was going to choke on her own vomit. What a way to go, huh? It would have looked lovely in the newspaper, on a miscellaneous page sandwiched between a cheesecake recipe and an article about the local community center: **Prostitute found dead in alley.** She'd always had a feeling that her life would end in a similar fashion, but she couldn't let it end tonight.

"Sora…" she muttered, her brother's kind face temporarily replacing the scarlet letters behind her eyelids. Her eyes filled with tears. She wanted to apologize, to make things better, but she knew better than to give in to her own feelings. After all, she only had these thoughts when she was drunk.

Orihime faded in and out of consciousness the entire night. At one point, she felt raindrops pelting her skin and momentarily worried that it would carry her vomit down and soak the entire side of her body. At another point she could have sworn she was flying, and thought that perhaps she really _had _died. She started preparing her excuses for Sora before slipping back into darkness. When she became lucid again, it was quiet all around her. There was no more rain, but it was far too still for her to be in the alley. Something warm was covering her, and she burrowed into it, inhaling the scent of clean laundry, a smell she associated with comfort. How in the world had she ended up somewhere comfortable? That wasn't a luxury for people like her. Still, she drifted off again, deciding that whatever questions she had she could answer in the morning… after her hangover was gone.

But a few hours of oblivion later, she came to her senses far too quickly. She bolted upright, eyes flying open, and immediately regretted it. "Oh…" Her head was throbbing, as if her very brain were thumping along to the beat of a song. Her long auburn hair fell over her shoulders, blocking out the unwelcome sunlight as she rubbed the crust from her eyes. When she dared to open them again, she noticed white fabric enclosing her arm. It was a sleeve, far too lengthy to belong to anything of hers. Looking down at her body, she saw that she was dressed in a white button-up that fell loosely past her chest. It was long enough to cover her bottom, but didn't quite reach her knees. Her tank top, shorts, and heels were gone.

Wondering where she was, Orihime observed her surroundings. It was a clean, quiet apartment, looking like something out of a house and home magazine. The furniture was plain and modest. The walls were white, the carpet a basic gray color with no design. She was currently sitting upright on what appeared to be a sofa bed, her long legs tangled in a series of crisp white sheets. In front of her, a console held a flat-screen television and a blu-ray DVD player. To her left was a dining table with four chairs set before an open window – her enemy – and next to it, seemingly out of place, sat a beautiful black concert grand piano.

Drinking all of this in, Orihime suddenly realized that she shouldn't have been wasting her time checking out the view. She didn't know where she was. The last thing she remembered was being face-down in an alley that smelled like garbage and urine. How did she get here? Where was _here, _anyway? And what, in her drunken stupor, had she done with whoever owned this place?

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Hopefully by the end of the next chapter you'll have a full grasp of the type of person Orihime is, though this chapter should have covered most of it. Interested to know how this completely twisted version of everyone's favorite damsel in distress is going to handle life? Let me know!

Next Chapter: Orihime escapes from the apartment building! …but not without meeting some crazy characters first, as well as losing something of great importance.


	2. The Anklet

**A/N: **Welcome to chapter two! I'm glad that you all enjoyed the first one. Today's has humor in it! Also, I just feel like I should say that even though I'm writing this story, it does not reflect my personal views whatsoever. This is Orihime's outlook on life, not mine.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach, which is not a bad thing, trust me.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**The Anklet**

This was not good. It wasn't the first time it had happened either, and Orihime really wanted to kick herself for it. Hadn't she developed a plan for dumping her alcohol dependency? Whatever happened to _that_?

The first thing that she needed to do was to find _her_ clothing. From the looks and sounds of things, she was presently the only person in the tidy apartment, which was both perfect and irritating. On the one hand, she didn't feel like sacrificing the small slice of dignity she kept for situations like this by asking a stranger what she had done with him – or her – the previous night. On the other hand, she kind of _had _to know. What if this person wasn't clean? What if they hadn't used protection? Was there a miniature mix of her and a perfect stranger baking in her oven right now?

_Okay, don't panic. Please, for the love of money, do not panic. _She took in a deep breath, steeled her resolve, then threw the blankets covering her legs aside and stood up from the sofa bed. Her head throbbed in protest, but she didn't have time to nurse her hangover right now. She needed to grab her shit and go.

Much to her surprise, she didn't have to walk very far to find her clothes. Her tank top and shorts were folded neatly on the arm of the sofa she'd been sleeping on, her purse resting on top of it. Strange; usually when she woke up in these situations her things were thrown about carelessly in her customer's haste to get her chest within his sweaty palms. But as she lifted her tank top to her nose, she picked up the same clean scent as the bed sheets. The vomit stain had also vanished. This guy had done her laundry? What the hell?

She picked up her purse and snapped it open, digging out her wallet. All of her money was still there; not a single cent less – or more, for that matter. In fact, nothing was out of place. The un-smoked cigarettes were accounted for, albeit damp. Her five leftover sticks of gum were there too. So she _hadn't _slept with anyone?

Orihime tucked her tank top into the purse and slipped it over her shoulder, then quickly pulled her freshly laundered shorts on and jammed her feet into her heels. Staying in this apartment was beginning to freak her out. It was so… quiet. Peaceful. Clean. It was almost as if the place was completely detached from reality; hers, anyway. She had half a mind to seek out the portrait of the straight-laced Christian family that had undoubtedly taken her in last night. Wouldn't be the first time they'd tried to redeem the sinner.

But first, she made her way over to the open window and, with a grimace and a swear, she looked outside. "Whoa." Here she had been expecting a two-foot drop to freedom. If she had tried to jump out of _this _window, she'd have ended up a splatter on the pavement, not unlike a pie dropped by a clumsy child. Mmm, pie sounded nice. Perhaps she would buy herself a slice later.

Only now, she had another thing to worry about: escaping this apartment building. She hurriedly scanned the surrounding area for any familiar landmarks and spotted the motel she usually rendezvoused with her "regular" at. So she was still in the Hueco Mundo district. That would make getting home a lot easier, but she still had to slip out of the tower unnoticed, and there was a fat chance of that happening. Craning her neck a bit, she saw that there were at least four floors left to the place. There must have been a ton of people living here!

Orihime let the curtains fall back and turned towards the door. She couldn't chicken out now. Certainly the apartment's tenant would return at any minute, having gone downstairs to retrieve his mail or pay his rent… or returning from breakfast at IHOP with the entire family. Taking the stairs would be her best option, but her foot still hurt from the twist and spill that had sent her sprawling onto the pavement, so she would have to brave the elevator. At least that way no busy-bodies could tell what floor she had come from.

She peered out of the peephole first, making sure that nobody was in the hallway to see her begin her walk of shame. Then, ever so cautiously, she twisted the knob and slowly pulled the door open. Poking her head out tentatively, she made extra sure that no one was around before stepping outside and closing the door behind her quietly. Phase One: Complete. The carpeted floor dulled the sound of her high heels as they dug into the ground with each quick step that she took. She managed to make it to the elevator without alerting any nosy neighbors to her presence.

Thankfully, it seemed that nobody was in need of it; the elevator flew up to meet her, its doors opening with a pleasant chime, completely empty inside. Orihime stepped into it and mashed the button next to the number one. Leaning back against the wall, she breathed a sigh of relief. Phase Two: Complete. She was starting to feel better now, rubbing her sore ankle. What had she been worried about? She'd done this plenty of times before.

Then suddenly, the elevator jerked into motion… but to her horror, it wasn't going down. Orihime looked at the button she had pressed. The number one was illuminated. Nothing to its side, nothing below it. Certainly she was supposed to be traveling to the first floor, not rising to the last! "What are you doing, you stupid thing?" she hissed, pressing the glowing button repeatedly to no avail. The elevator continued to travel upwards until it came to a stop and its doors opened onto an empty hall with the same irritatingly pleasant ding.

It was then that Orihime noticed a button with the letter **G **and a star next to it. "Oh, well, damn," she muttered, hitting that one instead and tapping her pain-free foot impatiently as the elevator closed. Two seconds into its descent, the cart lurched into a stop. Orihime gasped and moved away from the doors, instinctively combing her fingers through her hair before assuming a nonchalant demeanor.

The elevator came open with a ding, and in stepped a tall, busty young woman with outrageously green hair. Orihime tried not to stare, but she couldn't help it. The girl wore a beret and a neckerchief, her shapely body enclosed in a knee-length dress with horizontal stripes and tan-colored boots. She hummed to herself, then paused and turned her head, looking at Orihime. The elevator doors swung closed. Orihime shrank further into the corner, hoping to whatever God was listening that this woman wouldn't start talking to her.

"_Bonjour!_"

Obviously, the deities weren't very attentive today. "Umm… hi," Orihime replied uncertainly. This was not the smart thing to do; the woman turned to face her, all smiles, and when she opened her mouth she spoke with a French accent so thick Orihime wished she'd brought along a translator.

"You are new to building?" she asked, her eyes round and wide and as green as her fly-away hair.

"No, uh, I'm not. I'm just a… guest." Orihime averted her gaze, hoping that would be the end of it. The woman let out a quiet 'oh' and turned away but, after a moment, she spoke again.

"You are one of Mr. Nnoitra's guests, _oui_?" Then she was off on a tangent, her arms flapping excitedly as she spoke far too quickly for the orange-haired girl to understand. "Mr. Nnoitra's guests are always getting confused with elevator. He never explain to them, no-no. They are strictly there for, how you Americans say, romping?" She waved her hand dismissively. "Anyway, building is backwards. Man who built it was very, very strange. He make first floor literally mean top floor! Is funny, no?"

Orihime didn't think it was very funny at all. "Sure…" Determining this as a double-dutch situation, she jumped in before the French woman could continue. "And just to clarify, I am not Mr. Nnoitra's guest. I don't even know who that is."

The girl tilted her head. Then, to Orihime's shock, her eyes narrowed in suspicion and slight animosity. "You are not guest of Grimmjow?"

"No! I don't know who that is, either!"

Satisfied, the woman's demeanor instantly changed back into full-blown joy. "Good! Pretty girl like you does not need to know cheating, scumbag boyfriend." She patted Orihime on the shoulder, then withdrew her hand, then immediately stuck it back out. "My name is Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck! I am German, but, raised in France. Come to America with cheating, scumbag boyfriend to study. Call me Nel for short!"

Orihime shook her hand weakly. "Nice to meet you, Nel." What was this girl's problem? Did all Europeans give their life story to random strangers? "Oh!" she cried out in surprise as Nel leaned forward and kissed both her cheeks enthusiastically. "Umm, right…" Thankfully, the doors swung open on the ground floor before the German-French woman could ask for her name. "Do me a favor, Nel. Forget that you ever saw me!" she said before dashing out of the elevator.

"Okay!" Nel waved at her cheerfully. "Come again to visit soon!"

Orihime smiled wryly, answering that in her mind with a resounding _no_. Hitching her purse's strap further up her shoulder, she breezed past a number of people checking their mailboxes by the elevator, her eyes on the double doors that would lead her to her freedom. Daylight! Fresh air! She was almost there!

A tall, lanky body appeared in front of her, effectively blocking her escape. Orihime looked up into a long, leering face framed by straight black hair, two eyes narrowed at her suggestively. "Hey there, little lady! What's a hot thing like you doing walking around by yourself?" The man, or so she guessed, eyed her appreciatively and ran his eerily long tongue across his lip.

Orihime stuck a hand on her hip and shifted her weight to one side, scowling, holding out her other hand. "Rate's gone up to five hundred a night. Take it or leave it." The man blinked in surprise, mouth opening to speak but no sound coming forward. Was it really that surprising that she was a prostitute? It's not like she had some angelic face with all those bags under her eyes. She sighed and pushed past him. "Get your ass out of my way," she snapped, turning towards her freedom once more, only to run straight into someone else. Damn it! Was there no getting out of this building? "Sorry," she said to the young man with shaggy black hair and vivid green eyes, already side-stepping him.

"Ah, no harm done," he replied quietly, bowing his head in a slight nod.

Orihime finally reached the doors, bursting out into the warm day, all but sprinting from the building. Victory was hers! She had half a mind to do a little touchdown dance, but she was still too close for comfort. With her head held high, she strutted – limping slightly – down the sidewalk, passing the building's welcome sign. _Las Noches_. She wasn't going to miss the place, that was for sure. Kidnapped by a Bible-toting family, accosted by a crazy French girl and then a pervert? She had better things to do, like getting that slice of pie she had promised herself. Nothing like baked goods to soothe away the stress of a hectic night!

…

Orihime ate like a pig, but it didn't go unpunished. If she wasn't hung-over, her morning routine consisted of a jog around the park, followed by a hundred and fifty sit-ups. She was slowly building her way to three hundred, _slowly_ being the keyword. Luckily for her, upon checking the time on her cell phone – which had thankfully stayed dry during the rain last night due to its protective case – she found that it was almost noon. Her favorite bakery was open for another two hours.

She caught the bus out of the Hueco Mundo district, ignoring the disdainful looks her attire attracted from older women. This whole ordeal had left her wanting a cigarette, but she would settle that craving later. For now, she would exchange nicotine for some well-deserved fat. She stared out the window as the bus passed the diner she had gotten wasted at the night before, the very thought of alcohol making her stomach gurgle. No thanks.

The bakery in question was located within a convenience store close to her apartment building, run by an eccentric man named Urahara who was always wearing a weird hat and wooden sandals. He also had a habit of employing children; whether or not he actually paid them, she would never know. It was the little girl with the perpetually sad expression who greeted her this time. "Good afternoon, Miss Orihime. Our specialty flavor of the day is apple, as Mr. Kisuke would like to welcome autumn with open arms… he says."

"That sounds delicious. Give me a huge slice! Like, bigger than my face. I'm freaking starving," Orihime said, reaching into her purse for her wallet. She pulled out a few crisp bills and handed them to the girl, who then hopped down from the stool on which she'd been sitting and went to retrieve the pie. Orihime's ankle protested at the lack of motion. No doubt it was going to swell up like her customers did the moment she took her underwear off in front of them. It definitely needed some ice.

"Here you go." The little girl placed a disposable plate on the counter that was practically bent over from the strain of carrying the pie slice. Orihime's mouth watered.

"Thanks. Keep the change, squirt," she said, grabbing the plate and a plastic spork, then making her way to the front of the store where a number of tables lined the window. Setting the pie down, Orihime climbed up into the high seat and allowed herself to be intoxicated by the scent of apple and cinnamon wafting upwards in rolling clouds of steam. The slice looked so perfect, so sinfully good that she almost dunked her face into it birthday cake style. But these pies were the best in town, and therefore, they had to be eaten with the utmost care. Starting with one perfect sporkful, she began carving away at the heavenly treat.

This had definitely been a strange morning, but fortunately, couldn't be counted among her worst. She'd had days where she'd had to spend a good hour in the shower trying to shampoo all the dried gunk out of her hair. Other times she had woken up to someone humping her leg like a damn dog. One day she'd even found herself in another county. Then again, that was the first and only time she had ever taken ecstasy. Never again – one of the only promises she had ever kept to herself.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered, reaching down to pull off her boots. That ankle was killing her! She didn't want to look, afraid that it would be as round and grayish-blue as a Vienna sausage. But when her hand passed over her skin, she froze, eyes widening, and felt again.

Her anklet was missing.

Not just any anklet, too, but the one that her brother Sora had given her for her fourteenth birthday; the last thing he had given her before he'd died. Orihime frantically rubbed her skin from knee to toe, but found no anklet. That was impossible. She _never _took the thing off! Not when she slept, not when she showered, not when she was working. That anklet was a part of her; it may as well have melted into her leg, which was what she hoped had happened and _not_ the alternative.

_Think Orihime, think! _Where had she seen it last? Because it had become such a part of her, she hardly felt it half the time, but she had been vaguely aware of it last night during the first of her escapades. She needed to retrace her steps, starting from the motel. What if she'd left it in the room? What if some thief of a maid had taken it and thanked her good fortune for Orihime's careless mistake?

She quickly shoveled the rest of the pie into her mouth – leaving it behind, no matter what the emergency, would have been a sin – and tore out of the convenience store, trying not to look worried as she limped down the sidewalk. The motel was two blocks away and already the pain in her ankle was getting to be unbearable. She wished she'd invested in a car. The muggy weather was causing sweat to gather at the back of her neck, but at least the stranger's shirt was big enough to let a slight breeze get at her torso. Maybe she shouldn't have stolen it, but she hadn't had time to weigh the consequences.

Upon entering the motel, the clerk at the reception desk stared at her curiously. "Good morning Ms. Inoue. Don't usually see you here this early."

"Hey Rob." Orihime approached him, grateful for a friendly face. "Look, I think I lost something here last night. Did any of the maids find a gold anklet in, uh, room… crap. Whatever the hell room the soldier was staying in!"

He shook his head slowly. "No, my maids are pretty honest. They turn their findings in to me if they do come across such things."

Orihime swallowed the lump in her throat, fighting her desperation. "Do you think I could take a look?"

Rob sighed, then summoned another receptionist to take his place and went through the customer log, finding the soldier's name. He grabbed a key off of the hook in the back and walked Orihime down the hall to the room. Once the door was open, she ran inside and began searching every corner of the floor, particularly where her clothes had been thrown. Nothing. The beds were neatly dressed, the drawers empty save for a Bible. No sign of the anklet anywhere. She let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through her hair. "Thanks anyway, Rob."

"No problem, Ms. Inoue. I hope you find what you're looking for," he said honestly, closing the door once they were out in the hall. Orihime offered him a smile and a kiss on the cheek. He was a nice guy, that Rob. Let her get away with more than he should have.

One place down, so many more to go. Orihime walked down the street with her eyes glued to the pavement. Cracks, gum, bird poop, the occasional coin. No anklet. She retraced her steps to the other two motels, begged her way into the rooms, interrogated housekeepers, but it didn't turn up. So she made her way back to the Hueco Mundo district, headed for the out-of-place diner she had gone to the night before. Perhaps the anklet had slipped off while she'd been getting hammered.

She was greeted at the door by a short, teenage hostess with a sweet face and black hair pulled up in a bun. "Welcome to the Haineko Diner! Would you like a smoking, non-smoking or bar seat?"

"That won't be necessary, uh," Orihime squinted at the girl's nametag, "Momo. Actually, I was here last night and I lost an anklet. I'm not exactly sure if this is where I lost it or not, but I'm retracing my steps just to be certain."

"Oh! In that case, feel free to look around." Momo stepped out of her way and gestured towards the bar. "Our manager isn't in right now, but if you recognize any employees, you can ask them if they found something," she said kindly.

"Thank you." Orihime moved past her and began her search, scouring the floor along the bar for any sign of the anklet. She asked two of the bartenders, but while they recognized her and her impressive ability to down so much alcohol, they hadn't seen anything else. Orihime sighed, knowing what was coming next: she had to check the alley.

Momo gave her an apologetic look when she realized that the anklet hadn't been found. "I'm really sorry. I can tell that you're in a hurry, but if our manager were here, she'd give you a free meal or something."

"Don't sweat it. It's nobody's fault," Orihime said to her with a weak smile before walking back out into the August day. She was quickly running out of places to look, which wasn't good. If she didn't find the anklet in the alley, she would have to go back to the Las Noches apartment building whether she wanted to or not. Hopefully she would spot it along the way. After all, she'd been taken quite a distance. The anklet could have fallen anywhere.

Orihime stepped into the alley next to the diner, cringing. And she'd thought the smell was bad last night! Now with everything being damp from the rain and the air thick with humidity, the stench was so pungent it was practically tangible. She took a deep breath and held it, not wanting to throw up again. Thinking back to the night before, she followed her stumbling path into the narrow passage, stopping at the spot where she had fallen. No anklet. She looked around, behind dumpsters crawling with maggots and in slime-covered crevices, hoping that the rain had carried it into a dark corner, but there was no sign of it.

Now she was left wondering where to go from there. Which way had last night's mysterious stranger taken her? Had he come out of the alley the same way that she had gone in, or had he continued through to the other street? If only there was some kind of clue! Footsteps in the mud and grime, a note, or _something_! But who in their right mind would leave a note on a rainy night, especially when they probably thought that she would have stuck around in the morning to listen to how much Jesus loved her?

Orihime felt the desperation clawing its way to the surface again, tears blurring her vision. She wanted her anklet back. Figures she would lose the only thing of importance that she owned! Phones, purses, clothing, cigarettes, gum… all of it could be replaced, but she could never find a substitute for her brother's last gift to her.

"Well, what do we have here?"

The male voice caused her to lift her head. Three guys, each of them eyeing a different part of her with obvious interest, were approaching from the end of the alley. Orihime scowled. She didn't have time for this. "A pretty lady, crying all alone in such a bad part of town?"

"What's the matter, sweetie? We can make you feel better, I promise."

Her eyes narrowed as she moved away from them. "Back off. I'm not in the mood for your shit."

"Ooh, she's feisty!" The trio laughed wickedly. She started to retreat, but one of them reached out and grabbed her wrist before she could pull away. "Come on, babe. Don't be like that!"

"Let go!" Orihime snapped, ready to launch a kick into his nuts. But before she could lift her leg, a fist drove into the side of his face. The guy staggered back into his friends, squealing like a stuck pig, blood spurting from his nose. She blinked, looking down at her own fist. That hadn't been her.

"How dare you hooligans harass a young woman in broad daylight, and next to _my _establishment! You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!" a husky voice snapped from behind Orihime.

"You crazy bitch! You broke my nose!" the bleeding man yelled.

"No shit! Why don't you run back to your mother and have her take a look at it? And nurse from her while you're at it, you big baby!" Orihime watched the men leave, then turned back to see who had saved her and immediately found herself staring at a pair of breasts that easily dwarfed her own. "Are you okay, dear?" She looked up a bit further, into the face of the gorgeous owner of the astronomical chest. Strawberry blonde, model-faced with a perfectly placed beauty mark at the corner of her mouth.

"I'm fine," Orihime said, putting some distance between herself and the woman's bosom. "Thank you."

"Hey, I know you!" The woman leaned closer and inspected her face. "Yeah, you're the girl from the bar last night. I asked if you wanted me to call you a cab, but you shook it off and went on your merry way." She grinned and stuck out her hand. "Rangiku Matsumoto at your service! I'm the manager of the Haineko Diner."

"Oh, it's nice to meet you! My name is Orihime Inoue. Sorry about last night. It was just one of those days."

"Don't sweat it, girly. You didn't puke in my nice new restaurant, so I've got no beef with you." She winked conspiratorially. "Besides, I know what it's like to have _those_ days… you know, the ones that can _only_ end in getting plastered."

Orihime smiled. She liked this lady. "Speaking of your diner, I lost my favorite anklet yesterday and I was thinking I might have dropped it in there. You didn't see it, did you?"

Rangiku's mouth twisted askew, her brow furrowing. "Can't say I did," she answered honestly. "Is that why you're in the middle of this disgusting alley?" Orihime nodded. "Geez, I'm sorry." She patted her shoulder reassuringly. "I know what it's like to lose something really important, but don't worry too much. It'll turn up."

"I sure hope so." Orihime tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The apartment complex was the only place left to check. Did she even remember which floor she had started off on? It didn't help that the building was freaking backwards, too. Her hangover had gotten much better, but that didn't mean she was in the mood to do any complicated thinking. "I should get going. I still have steps to retrace."

"Don't let me stop you." Rangiku slung an arm around her shoulder and walked her out of the alley. "But next time you're in the Hueco Mundo district, feel free to come by Haineko! I feel partially responsible for this so, as a sign of friendship, I'll give you anything you want, but only once."

What was it, be nice to prostitutes day? "You don't need to do that."

"It's no trouble," Rangiku insisted, turning towards the diner. "Good luck finding what you're looking for!"

Orihime thanked her and turned in the opposite direction, her eyes picking out the rather tall, white apartment tower in the distance. _Las Noches_. Her heart started to pound. This morning she had busted out of there like a smooth criminal, and now she was left with no choice but to infiltrate it, still wearing the stolen shirt of her mystery man.

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Introducing _French Nel! _Honestly, I'm dying to hear your comments about her, because when I first began to plan this story and thought, "Omg, Nel should be uber French", I've had nothing but laughs coming up with her future antics.

Also, a few more characters are slowly making their way into the spotlight! Putting Ulquiorra in this chapter was like coming up with a Where's Waldo puzzle. He's in plain sight, can't miss him!

Next Chapter: Orihime not-so-sneakily reenters Las Noches! Will she be reunited with her beloved anklet? Click the review button and speculate!


	3. The Pianist

**A/N: **Welcome to chapter three! I'm glad that you all could join me! There have been a few concerns about the story, which is understandable. I know the plot is a little unorthodox, especially considering the usually cheerful nature of our protagonist. Rest assured! The first four chapters are a complete introduction to Orihime's dismal life, but from the fifth chapter onwards things will begin to change!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach. If I did… well, I would have killed Gin off too, honestly. Not because I dislike him – quite the contrary – but because it tears out the hearts of the fans who love him, and in the end, we could all use a good cry.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**The Pianist**

Orihime felt sick. She was tired, the weather was absolutely disgusting, and her ankle hurt like a bitch. Perfect excuses to turn around and go home, to sit on her well-worn sofa with a pack of ice on her bruised limb, daytime soap operas and court shows on the television to keep her entertained. She would have given her kidney for that right now, but there were more important things in life than comfort. She needed that anklet back.

Knowing this, she still found herself standing outside of the Las Noches apartment complex as if her feet had been cemented to the sidewalk. The building looked like it had twelve floors in all, and she was beginning to recall the markings on the elevator buttons: Numbers 1 through 10, a G for the ground floor, a P for the penthouse, and a B for the basement. Orihime closed her eyes, trying to remember _anything _from last night that could help her, because in her joy of escaping that morning she had forgotten the floor that she had initially started out on. How very like her to not even glance at the number on the door. Freaking perfect.

And she wasn't about to ask whoever was at the front desk, either. How embarrassing would that be? _I think I was brought here last night, don't know by who, and I was too plastered to remember anything. Can you help me?_ Like that would ever happen. She was just going to have to guess and check… if she could ever get herself to move.

"_Pretty girl standing, outside in the summer heat, choosing her next move."_

"Oh God, not this again."

Orihime turned her head, noticing an odd pair sitting on a bench nearby, staring right at her: a tall, lanky man with shoulder-length, wavy brown hair who absently stroked his goatee as he scrutinized her; and a thin girl with short blonde hair tinted green, as if she spent all of her time in the swimming pool. To Orihime's horror, the girl was dressed in attire far too risqué for someone who looked like they were barely out of elementary school. "What?" the man was saying, directing his attention to the girl, who was shaking her head. "I thought it was pretty good for an improvised haiku."

"A haiku shouldn't be so obvious, Starrk. _Good _poetry is filled with illusory details, metaphors and comparisons that one would have to dig deep to decipher, not some random-ass daytime observation," she replied, then looked back at Orihime. "Don't mind us," she said apologetically.

"Err, right." Orihime swore under her breath. She'd forgotten that the point of sneaking back to a place was to remain unseen, and here she'd allowed herself to not only be seen, but _improvised _about. Trepidation or not, she had to keep moving. Gathering her guts, she walked into the shade of the building and pulled open the lobby's glass door. There was hardly anybody on the first floor now; a few elderly people getting their mail, and a busy-looking man on a cell phone, running hurriedly out into the sunny day. At the help desk, a man with silver hair and eyes that were so narrow that they could have been closed gave her a creepy smile. She quickly looked away.

Now then, she had to get to the elevators. Luckily they were right at the end of the lobby. She made her way over to them, heels clacking loudly against the tiled floor, which made her wish she had changed her shoes at least. Damn things, causing such a racket. And they didn't help her foot pain one bit.

Unfortunately, neither of the two elevators were anywhere near the ground floor and appeared to be dumping people off, being that they were taking their sweet time getting to her. Orihime sighed impatiently. What a freaking day. She was going to treat herself to a bubble bath when she got home.

"Oh, is it Ms. Guest from earlier? _Bonjour!_"

"Dear God, kill me now…" Orihime whispered before turning very slowly to smile – more of a grimace, really – at the approaching French-German girl from that morning. Only now the elderly people and the still-smiling attendant were staring – were his eyes even open? – at her too. Did the girl _have _to be so loud?

"You are back so soon!" she said, grabbing Orihime by the shoulders and kissing both cheeks enthusiastically.

_Smooch_! "Yeah," _Smooch! _"I left something here." Maybe this chick would be able to help her. "You haven't seen a gold anklet lying around by any chance, have you?"

The green-eyed girl mashed the elevator button and, to Orihime's annoyance, the elevator began to descend. Figures it would work for _her_. What was the girl's name again? Something with an N… Nancy? No, it was much shorter… Nel! That was it. "Anklet?" She crossed her arms and puffed out her cheeks, turning her gaze skyward. "You are meaning jewelry, _oui_?"

"Uh, _oui_."

Nel grinned, revealing a row of pearly white teeth. "You are in luck!" she said, and for a moment Orihime felt her spirit soar. So she wouldn't have to go back to the Bible family's apartment? Thank their God for that! "See, Mr. Nnoitra's female guests often leave their things, perhaps in haste to get away from him. Mr. Nnoitra is very creepy." She shivered involuntarily. "Anyway, I find jewelry on floor all the time! Keep it for myself, because obviously they are not coming back for it." And she barked a laugh that startled an elderly couple nearby. "We will check my stash for anklet!"

Orihime's excitement burst through. "Thanks!" she breathed, letting out a sigh of relief. Now she felt guilty for thinking unfriendly things about the French girl. She wasn't that bad, just… boisterous; the complete opposite of herself. The elevator door swung open and the two stepped inside. Nel pressed the number six, humming cheerfully, then gasped, making Orihime jump a few inches into the air.

"What happened to foot?" she asked, pointing to her swollen ankle.

"Oh, this? I tripped last night," Orihime replied. Now that she got a good look at herself, her knees were a little scratched up too, and the flesh of her palms were tender. At least she could remember that much.

Nel clicked her tongue. "You should be resting, and not wearing boots with high heels! Take off your shoes!"

Was she crazy? Orihime wasn't going to walk around barefoot in some nasty elevator. There could have been people in the building with foot fungi or other questionable diseases. "I'm fine, really," she said, ignoring the painful throb that shot through her lower leg. Besides, she wasn't going to get comfy either. As soon as she had her anklet she was leaving and never coming back. The elevator doors swung open onto the sixth floor, which was actually the fifth. It stretched ahead of them, ending in a window from which bright sunlight entered the building.

Nel led the way to her apartment, producing a key from the small pocket on her striped dress. "Boyfriend is not home right now. I make him go buy groceries," she said as the lock clicked and she forced the door open, flicking on the light. It was a modest apartment, really, a bit smaller than the one Orihime had woken up in. From what she could see, there was a cramped kitchen directly to their left, then the living room, and a hallway that must have led off into the bedroom.

Orihime followed Nel through the living room and down the short corridor, where there was a picture or two of the French girl with a blue-haired guy in places around Paris. He did look like the cheating, scumbag sort, with a cocky grin and that douchebag hairstyle. But Orihime decided not to make prejudgments. After all, their business was none of hers.

"In here!" Nel announced, turning on the bedroom light despite the open window. The queen-sized bed had been left undressed, and to Orihime's discomfort, there were clothes strewn about the floor. She could easily guess what Nel had been up to last night. While she waited a few feet away from the discarded clothing articles, the green-haired girl went through her drawer and withdrew a large, pink cylindrical case, which upon flipping open divided into several sections of shimmering jewelry. Nel held it out for Orihime to take. "Look away!"

There sure was a ton of stuff in there. Orihime guessed that the creepy Mr. Nnoitra must have had frequent company. Gold, silver, diamonds and emeralds and rubies… and this stuff looked legit, too. She ran her fingers along a string of pearls somewhat enviously. But she quickly snapped out of it, rooting through the jewelry in search of her beloved anklet. Necklaces, bracelets, other anklets, earrings… It wasn't there. She nearly dropped the container in her despair and frustration. Even the apartment's resident looter didn't have it?

Nel bowed her head sadly. "No luck?"

"None," Orihime muttered, "but thanks anyway." She handed the jewelry box back to the French girl. Looks like she'd have to seek out her good Christian family after all. "I'm going to have a look around the building, okay?"

Nel nodded, walking her back out to the front door. "Do I have to forget that you were here again?"

Orihime managed to crack a smile. "Sure," she said, waving in a half-hearted manner before stepping out into the hallway. Closing her eyes as she walked toward the elevator, she recalled looking out the apartment window that morning. She'd counted four floors above the one she had been on. That would mean the penthouse, followed by the first floor, the second floor, and the third floor. So she'd been on the fourth… which in this case, meant the seventh. Damn it, she freaking hated this building.

Thankfully, the elevator was once again empty when it opened for her. She pressed the number four, hoping she had gotten it right, and waited as she was carried the short ride up to the designated floor. Walking out into the hall, she noticed something familiar: a name messily scrawled on the wall in crayon, at the level a child would stand. She'd seen it earlier when she'd been trying so desperately to escape the building, so she was definitely in the right place. Now it was just a matter of knocking on the right door.

Pausing for a moment, she tried to think of the amount of apartments she had passed on her way to the elevator, and stopped when heard the faint strains of piano music. How nice, she thought. But then she immediately remembered that there had been a piano in the stranger's apartment this morning. Eyes widening, she hoped that whoever it was would keep on playing so that she could find them, and limped her way towards the sound.

In no time, Orihime stood in front of the door from which the piano music appeared to be coming from. She listened as it started, then tapered off after a few measures. Then it started again, back at the beginning, only this time the melody was slightly different and continued a while longer before tapering off again. She hesitated. Should she bother this person, who already sounded like they were having trouble with their music? Of course she should. That was none of her business either. She knocked on the door, waiting. The song stopped mid-measure. There came a scraping sound, followed by light footsteps, and then the lock clicked and the door opened a crack.

Orihime blinked in surprise. It was the quiet, green-eyed guy she had bumped into on her way out of the apartment building. _He _was the one who had brought her there? No, he couldn't be. There was no recognition on his face, no staring pointedly at the shirt she was wearing. He was just… looking at her. And he was so thin, a little on the pale side, with the kind of face that made her want to reach out and hug him, but she wasn't sure why. "Umm…" She found her voice faltering, her conviction drained. This guy couldn't possibly have her anklet. "Sorry for bothering you. I-I think I got the wrong door." There could be another person on this floor with a piano, right?

Smiling apologetically, she took a step back and turned, deciding that she would try someone else. But she wasn't two paces from the door when she heard him speak. "You look like you've lost something important."

Orihime looked at him. He watched her expectantly, his expression betraying nothing. "Yeah, how did you know?" Stupid question. If this _was_ the guy who had brought her home last night, why wouldn't he know? Then again, maybe he had a roommate, someone who had no problems grabbing prostitutes off the street and stealing their jewelry.

After a moment of silence, he removed his gaze from her as he replied. "We have a similar look about us," he said simply, staring off into space. Then he blinked once and opened the door a bit wider. "Would you like to come in?"

Orihime's ankle answered for her. She winced and lifted her leg off of the floor as pain shot through it again, bad enough to make her eyes water. Perhaps there was no harm in checking with this guy; after all, he certainly seemed the most normal out of the residents she had encountered so far. "Sure," she said, turning and carefully limping back. He politely moved out of her way as she entered the apartment, trying not to look around too conspicuously.

It was the same place. Tidy, quiet, peaceful. The only difference was that the sofa bed had been tucked away and converted into a plain couch. Orihime drew her arms tightly around herself, feeling completely out of place, like a fat ass elephant in the middle of the room. "What did you lose?" the guy asked her, his voice soft and soothing and just as much a part of the atmosphere as he himself was.

"An anklet – _my _anklet. It was from my brother," she said, watching as he walked over to the piano and gently slid the cover over the keys.

"I see." He looked at her again with that unnerving green gaze. It was almost as if he was looking right through her; as if at any given moment he would begin reciting her life story, or all of her deep, personal fears. But he didn't. "You're lucky," he said almost wistfully, "that you've lost something tangible… something that could easily be recognized if one were to just lay eyes on it."

"I don't feel very lucky," Orihime said with a frown, to which he chuckled.

"Of course not," he agreed, walking to the counter behind the piano that formed the base of an opening that looked into the kitchen. "No one ever does in such situations. Not until they find what they're looking for, anyway, do they realize how truly lucky they are." Orihime continued to watch him, puzzled. There was something sad about him, which must have explained her crazy desire to hug him. "Some people will spend their whole lives searching and never find what they lost," he said quietly. "But not you." He turned around and, opening his palm, her anklet dropped into view, wrapped loosely around two fingers. "Today's your lucky day."

Orihime's eyes widened, her heart leaping for joy. "That's it!" she breathed, her pain momentarily forgotten as she ran forward and allowed him to place the anklet into her hand. The gold chain almost looked new in the sunlight coming in from the window, or perhaps it was merely her perception of it, now that she'd nearly let it slip away from her. She looped it through her fingers, feeling every tiny link in the chain, the indentions in the gold plate made by her engraved name. Then she gingerly placed it within the safe confines of her purse "Thank you so much…" And she hesitated, realizing that she didn't know the guy's name.

"Ulquiorra," he filled in for her.

Orihime smiled wide, perhaps the first sincere smile she had mustered up in ages. "You're a life saver, Ulquiorra." He looked away sheepishly, which only made the urge to hug him even stronger, especially since he had found her anklet. But she held it in, deciding that she should leave in the event that she was taking up his time. "I should get going. I have to soak this ankle before it gets any worse and the doctors have to amputate."

"Of course." He gestured towards the door. "Feel free."

Orihime headed for the exit, glad that she could put this whole episode behind her now. But as she reached for the doorknob, she stopped and looked back at Ulquiorra, whose shirt she may or may not have been wearing, and caught him staring at the sunlit piano as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. "Out of curiosity," she said before she could think against it, "you said earlier that we had a similar look about us."

Ulquiorra glanced at the ceiling, his brow furrowing in concentration. "I did," he muttered.

"So… what did you lose, then?"

He sighed, very quietly, and his eyes met hers, seeming to cross the distance from where he stood to where she waited. "My inspiration."

"Oh." And here she'd been thinking it was something she could help him with. Then again, he'd also mentioned tangibility. At least if he'd lost his sanity she could have pointed him in the direction of a decent shrink. "Well, I hope you find it," she said lamely, pulling the door open and stepping out into the hallway again, but not without hearing his barely audible reply.

"Me too."

With the door closed behind her, Orihime found herself feeling a little sad. Inspiration, huh? Nothing she could do about that, unless he needed to get laid and had enough money to pay for her. It just served as a reminder of how little she fit into that world, that quiet and tranquil little apartment high above the slums of her life. These people could worry about things like lost inspiration. She had to worry about where her next meal was coming from. _Looks like it's time to hit the streets._

…

Orihime would have liked to go right back to work – as far as sex was concerned, she wouldn't need her ankle much – but by the time she got home she could barely walk. Her apartment manager, an energetic lesbian named Chizuru who had a girlfriend but made it no secret that she wanted Orihime's body, gladly helped her into her living room. "Want me to get you some ice, my little princess?" she cooed as she lowered the girl onto her sofa.

"Oh, sure, if it isn't too much trouble…" Orihime slung an arm over her eyes and ignored the endearing term. She needed a nap. Apparently being passed out for hours did nothing for sleepy people. From the kitchen, she heard Chizuru speak.

"Where have you been all day, Hime? I came by earlier because I'd bought some donuts for everyone."

"God, would you believe it? I lost the anklet Sora gave me during work last night like a total dumb ass." She groaned. "If I ever come in drunk again, feel free to kick me out, even if I am paying rent. I'm seriously going to try and quit this time."

"Yikes." Chizuru returned with a baggie of ice wrapped in a paper towel and carefully set it down on Orihime's bruised ankle. "Rough night?"

Orihime shook her head. "It was just one of those days where I think too freaking much, get hammered and threaten to kill myself, only to chicken out but somehow end up hurting myself anyway." She removed her arm from her eyes and looked at Chizuru pitifully. "I'm a real piece of work, huh?" She blew out a sigh that lifted her bangs and tossed them to the side. "Passed out in alley in the _rain _no less, woke up in a strange apartment and lost my anklet…"

"Whoa, hold on a second!" Chizuru held up a hand. "You woke up in a strange apartment?"

"Yeah, uh, Las Noches, in the Hueco Mundo district. That place and everyone who lives there are crazy, I swear." They were nice, but eccentric. Not her kind of people.

Chizuru giggled. "You mean that building where the floor numbers are upside-down? I've been there once or twice. It's kind of a dump for how much they charge their tenants," she said, rolling her eyes. "Aren't you glad my prices are fair? Though I'd happily let you stay for free, Hime," she added in a huskier tone.

"I know you would, Chizuru." Orihime smiled wryly. "And it's that same generous hospitality that's making me dinner tonight, right?"

"Only for a kiss."

"Hundred bucks."

"Damn it, Hime, you know I'd never pay for your affection!"

"Then you're just not getting anything," she said heartlessly, feeling along the floor until she found the remote control and turning the television on. "Besides, I was kidding. Maybe we can rent a movie or something before I go out to work. What do you say?"

Chizuru smiled. "That sounds great." She readjusted the ice pack and stood. "Call me if you need anything, okay? I'll be up here in a jiff."

Orihime flipped through the channels as Chizuru left, sighing and settling for a court show. So that was it, then. After such a harrowing yet interesting morning, it was just going to be another boring afternoon until the sun set and she went off in search of customers. She had effectively killed most of the day in search of her anklet, which now hugged her uninjured ankle and glimmered happily in the light. It was almost six, the trek back to her side of the city having taken longer than usual thanks to her need for frequent stops.

Her stomach growled audibly, no longer satisfied by the fat slice of pie she'd bought from Urahara's shop hours before. Maybe she'd order a pizza. She would leave it to Chizuru to pick whatever movie she watched, as long as it wasn't another college humor flick. Orihime hated being reminded of what she was missing out on.

Sometimes she wondered what her old friends were up to. Ichigo, Rukia, Uryuu, Chad, Tatsuki… but that was dangerous territory. They had all turned their backs on her years ago. Why the hell should she care what they were doing? They'd probably gone to big universities together, and were probably moving into off-campus apartments this year. Maybe Ichigo and Rukia were banging, or Ichigo and Tatsuki – hell, maybe he was banging both of them. At the same time. And they'd had the nerve to think _she _was a slut? Bastards. If she was lucky, they'd all made a suicide pact and jumped off a cliff together.

And this was exactly why she had a tendency to get drunk when she was bored. This twisted ankle was definitely going to be her undoing. If she couldn't get out of the apartment when she wanted to, she was going to drink herself dead, and there was no way she'd do that to poor Chizuru, who loved her regardless of what she did; a true friend, if she'd ever had one.

Orihime closed her eyes, listening to the couple on the television bicker over who had the right to the car after the divorce, only to have the judge tell them both to shut up. She smiled faintly. After such a strange day, her apartment seemed… stale. More so than usual. She was used to things being mundane, but damn. Unconsciously she hit the volume button on the remote control until the voices on the TV were practically yelling in her ear. _Much better_.

She dozed off for a while, then woke up close to an hour later when Chizuru came knocking. "Pizza and beer! The dinner of champions," she announced cheerfully, putting the pizza box and six-pack on the coffee table before dragging it over so Orihime wouldn't have to move. "Don't worry about the food; you're buying next time. And as for tonight's movie we have – drum roll please – Elizabethtown!"

"Oh my God, with Orlando Bloom?" Orihime sat up, completely awake. "You know just how to spoil me. Put it in now."

"Ha! _That's what she said_." Chizuru grinned sleazily and ran to put the movie into the DVD player. "You drool over what's his face all you want. Personally, I think Kirsten Dunst is the real cutie."

"You would," Orihime said, leaning over and grabbing a pizza slice, biting into it and wriggling with delight. "What _is _this orgasmic mess of grease and cheese?" She looked at the name on the box. "Dominoes? No way. I guess those commercials about their new recipe were no friggin' joke."

Chizuru laughed. "Just save some for me, Hime." She sat down and hit the play button on the DVD remote, though the movie went by mostly ignored as Orihime filled her in on the details of her morning and afternoon. With Chizuru there, at least she didn't have to worry about drinking too much. She was able to stop after two beers, even though the film was oddly nagging at her conscience.

"Hey," Chizuru whispered, suddenly serious.

"What?" Orihime looked at her, nibbling on the pizza crust.

"That guy that had your anklet…" She met Orihime's gaze with a completely straight face. "What if _he _had a suicide workout machine rigged with a knife in his bedroom?"

Silence. Then the two burst into hysterics, laughing until their sides hurt.

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **What? Oh, yeah, Ulquiorra's definitely coming back! What kind of UlquiHime story would this be without one half of the pairing? 8D I apologize for all the shameless advertising of delicious pizza and hilarious movies, by the way.

Next Chapter: Will be sad. But once it's out of the way, the story can start to pick up.


	4. Her Lucky Day

**A/N: **This chapter was finished the day after I posted the first chapter on FanFiction! Talk about working ahead! But I'm at school now, so updates may become more spaced apart.

**Warning: **The chapter you are about to read is, I think, the darkest thing I have ever written.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Bleach.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Her Lucky Day**

Because Orihime had spent so much time on her ankle, it took a week before the swelling finally went down and the pain disappeared altogether. She sighed happily as she twisted it this way and that, tapping her foot lightly to make sure she was back to a hundred percent, then tried out her high heels. No pain! Yes! Now Chizuru would have to let her out of the apartment. Her overly concerned friend had forbidden her from going out more than necessary – at times even guarding the door like a sentry – and since Orihime never took work home, she had basically been on a very boring vacation.

Whoever her first customer of the night was would be lucky to get her in a good mood. She went for a skirt, coupled with a white button-up which she would keep slightly open for whoever wanted to indulge in a little fun, and a pair of knee-high boots that could easily be unzipped and kicked off during playtime. Besides, stooping over to remove them would give her customer a nice view.

Chizuru sighed as she leaned on the doorframe to Orihime's bedroom, arms crossed, watching her apply lip gloss with a finger. "Your customers are so lucky. They don't have morals keeping them from ravaging you."

Orihime laughed. "Don't sound so bummed. That's a bad thing, remember?" She puckered her lips and made kissing motions at her reflection. "No such thing as a trustworthy man. They're scum, all of them."

"Well, if you ever decide to cross the fence…"

"You're right down the hall." She rolled her eyes. "Don't you have a date with your woman tonight?"

"Oh, right! I'm going to be late." Chizuru ran forward and hugged Orihime tightly. "No drinking. Come home before sunrise. If you don't, I'm calling the police," she warned her. "I'm not even joking. It's dangerous out there, Hime."

"Who do you think you're talking to?" Orihime winked. "If anything comes up, I'll give you a call."

She left half an hour later, wearing a light jacket over her practically see-through shirt, bending her knee and feeling for the anklet inside her boot. Ever since losing it, Orihime had made sure that she would check for it periodically; at least every two hours. Her fingers grasped the gold chain and she smiled, satisfied, before setting off down the street. It was the first day of September – her twenty-first birthday coming up fast – and the weather was beginning to adjust accordingly. After that last heat wave, the coolness of autumn had begun slinking its way into the city. The temperatures had dipped into the lower seventies during the day, but never dropped past fifty at night. Not that Orihime was worried. She'd be getting plenty of exercise.

It was kind of disappointing that she got absolutely nothing out of sex. Everywhere she went she heard women boasting on television or in dirty Cosmo magazines about how fantastically mind-blowing it all was. Personally, Orihime had never felt a twinge of desire for any of the men she had been with. They'd kiss her, but all she could feel was their saliva coating her face and slinking down her throat. They'd touch her, but her body didn't respond. It was skin on skin, nothing else, no different than shaking someone's hand.

She didn't think much of that, either. Some women were devastated by their inability to have orgasms. Orihime just saw it as another fact of life; there were people born without wisdom teeth, people born double-jointed. She couldn't reach orgasms during sex. The end.

Tonight's excursion was almost on the north side of town. She couldn't bear the thought of parading herself through suburban shopping centers and past stone-walled, gated communities. Still, even there she could find clients, though they would have to meet her halfway if they wanted any action. Customer number one, who pulled up from a bright neighborhood of seven-bedroom, four-point-five bath houses and politely asked her if she needed a ride "home," was a lawyer. He had a middle-aged wife and two kids in college. His wife owned three corgis that drove him nuts and were fond of pissing on his ties. If it were up to him, he said as he drove to the cheapest motel his smart phone could direct them to, he would have the little monsters put down.

Orihime giggled and playfully shoved him, squealing in her most bubbly and airheaded voice, "No way! That's _so mean_!" Cretin. Jackass. She hoped he hung himself on a noose of piss-smelling ties that very night. Maybe she'd tell him she had some incurable disease when he was done with her, just to push him towards it.

Judging by his age, ethnicity and lifestyle, he was overweight. He would be sweating before she got her top off. His chest was probably covered in a disgusting, thick, graying forest of hair, and down under wasn't going to be any better. He'd have a decent size on him, but it would be crooked or have a weird mole or something. And he'd more than likely wear his wedding ring out of some twisted spite for his unsuspecting wife and her adorable dogs, who she had seen a picture of in the glove compartment when she'd taken a peek under the pretense of looking for some chewing gum.

But Orihime smiled when she needed to smile, stripped slowly enough to tease him, moved the way he wanted her to and politely ignored all the sweat. It was nothing personal; she needed the money. If his wife knew what was going on, she would probably call her a home-wrecker. Poor woman. Sometimes Orihime wished that she could gather all those innocent wives into a room and explain to them, slowly and intelligently, that if they wanted to see a home-wrecker they should look at their husbands first. After all, _they _were the ones who came onto _her_.

It shouldn't have been so frustrating. Orihime hated thinking about it for that very reason. If she, with her lack of a high school degree or even a GED for that matter, could understand that the world and its men and their meaningless commitments were going to shit, then so could these pretty and educated housewives. She hated them for being so weak, so utterly stupid. Why blame her when they could pack their things and leave if they were unhappy? Wasn't this America, the land of the _free_?

One client down, and she was already irritated. Orihime didn't even spare the lawyer a look when he left her back in the city, her patience a bit thinner and her wallet a bit fatter. She'd almost forgotten to fake an orgasm on him. Too bad Chizuru had forbidden her from drinking.

Customer number two was on the local university's varsity football team. He jokingly asked if she'd seen him on ESPN before; she twisted a lock of her hair around her finger and flirtatiously mistook him for the quarterback. No, she hadn't seen his stupid face on TV. Oh, yeah, she was _all _about the school. Go… whatever colors they were! She gave an enthusiastic cheer and laughed, pretending to be embarrassed, batting her eyelashes at him. He told her he'd been referred by a friend. What was he expecting, a discount? She may have been open all night but she wasn't a damn convenience store.

It was a quick hook-up in the dark alley next to the sports bar, straight to the point. Orihime stared up at the night sky, clutching the back of his shirt, moaning when appropriate. _I wonder if all the girls who swoon over his picture on their television screen know how tiny he is. Geez, I could have stayed home and played with myself if I wanted a better – _"Oww!" she screamed, abruptly pushing him away from her neck. "What the fuck was that? Did you just _bite _me?"

Mr. Football Player grinned. "I thought you girls were into that sort of kinky thing."

Ugh! Orihime smothered her temper and apologized in a sultry tone. He'd just caught her by surprise, that was all. The moron hadn't even stopped humping her. _College guys_. She wondered if Kurosaki had that sort of stamina. He'd always seemed like the type who would finish early. The thought had her biting her lower lip to suppress a giggle. How long had it been now, ten minutes? Her moans should have been louder a while ago. Damn, she was too distracted for this.

Her client was the kind of guy who misunderstood women, perhaps due to the fact that he was in college and watched those movies Chizuru was into because they were filled with girls flashing their boobs to anyone with eyes. She knew this the moment he announced his orgasm, like she really wanted to know. He was wearing a condom. No need for warnings. She rolled her eyes discreetly and tried not to see what his face looked like when he reached nirvana. Orihime had always had this sick desire to be a photographer who took pictures of nothing but the ridiculous expressions guys made when they unloaded; she'd seen so many. There were lip-biters, screamers, grunters, the quiet guys who did nothing but sigh, the red-faced, the goofy smiles, and – her absolute favorite – the guys who groaned and cursed in sequences as if they had just stubbed their toe. They always made her laugh. Really, dude? Was it that bad? You're not getting a refund.

Two clients down, and Orihime now had enough money for a new outfit. Where to next? She didn't have many regulars, probably because she always dropped her ditzy act the moment their transaction was finished. Most guys were turned off by the transformation. Here she'd been playing the innocent first-timer, giving them the "I'm so nervous" speech and pretending she cared whether or not they were gentle, which they promised to be but never were. If you pet a puppy that hard, you'd kill the poor thing.

Orihime wandered into a local park, wishing she could get her head out of the clouds. She withdrew a cigarette from the pack in her purse, lit it, and took a good drag before checking to make sure her anklet was still there. Yup, safe and sound. Unzipping her boot, she pulled her leg free and slipped the anklet off, holding it up for inspection. It glowed faintly in the light of a nearby streetlamp, but her name was shadowed on the engraved plate, illegible.

How sad, she thought, that it didn't shine nearly as brightly as it had the other day.

Whoa, hold the phone! Where was _that _thought train taking her? Had she already forgotten the whackos she'd had to go through to get this anklet back? There was nothing fond about that memory. Nothing at all. She'd just been relieved to see her anklet. That had to have been the only reason that the gold chain had seemed like new, like the day her brother had presented it to her.

"_Happy birthday, Orihime!"_

"_Sora, it's beautiful! You didn't have to get me anything; you know we don't have that much money!"_

Orihime stared at the anklet, which was becoming harder to see behind the unshed tears in her eyes.

"_I know, but it's your birthday. I wanted to do something special for you; the greatest…"_ she sniffled, _"…most wonderful…" _her heart tightened painfully, _"…sweetest little sister anyone could ever ask for." _Orihime choked back a sob. Oh, Sora. Had they told him, when he got to heaven, what she had done that very night with the guys from the tennis team? Happy birthday to them.

Why was she always, _always _thinking so much? Didn't her brain have an off switch somewhere? Oh, right. It was at the bottom of a beer bottle. She wiped the tears from her cheeks. How wonderful… she'd become an alcoholic, just like her filthy father. She could have tried a little harder not to end up being what she was now: a clone of the parents she'd hated with every fiber of her being. But what would she have been, then? A functioning member of society? The thought was almost laughable. She couldn't picture herself sitting in an office taking phone calls for a handsome CEO who would eventually sweep her off her feet. She couldn't see herself teaching a kindergarten class and charming one of her student's single fathers. She couldn't put herself in a kitchen washing dishes with a big pregnant belly, waiting for her beloved, honest husband to come home.

That life wasn't for _her_. It never had been, it never would be. She was born in the bathtub of a rundown apartment and would probably die the same way. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, trash to miserable, stinking trash.

Orihime lifelessly felt around for her purse, clutching the anklet tightly in her left hand while fumbling for her phone with the right. She pressed number one on her speed dial and lifted the phone to her ear. The answering machine picked up. "Hey, Chizuru, it's Hime. I'm going to get drunk," she said quietly, then hung up and slipped her foot back into her boot. Beer now, quitting later, to hell with the consequences. Anything was better than this.

…

Tonight's bar boasted that it was a favorite stop for the lovely ladies of Girls Gone Wild. Apparently they were under the sad impression that Orihime would be inspired by the fact and go topless for a while. Boy, were they wrong. "I said _no!" _she snapped, decking a tipsy guy who had tried to yank off her sweater without warning. Just because she was halfway to the moon didn't mean she couldn't defend herself. The guy fell back, taking a bar stool with him on his way to the sticky floor, and Orihime stood on wobbly legs with her fist still clenched in case anybody else wanted some.

"Uh, Miss?" the bartender called out tentatively.

"_What?_" she barked at him, her head whipping in his direction and effectively causing the room to spin. Oh, right. They didn't like it when people laid out their customers, even if the guy had been sexually harassing her. She snorted and grabbed her purse off of the bar, leaving behind enough money to pay for the drinks she'd downed. God, how many had that been? She'd lost count after her fourth, and that had been an hour ago. She should have been unconscious by now.

Orihime stumbled out into the night, walking purposefully towards… nowhere in particular. She couldn't go home like this. Chizuru would ignore her orders to kick her out, give her a lecture that she wasn't in the mood to hear, then throw all of her booze in the trash. Wait, she'd probably already done that after the message Orihime had left her.

Stupid Sora. She'd only been a social drinker before he'd died. But what was the first thing she'd done after his funeral? Persuaded some college guy to buy her a case of beer in exchange for quickie, then she'd gone home and drank herself into a stupor.

But that didn't _work _anymore. She could no longer numb herself like she used to. Five bottles, seven bottles, twelve bottles… nothing helped.

And all of these people – all of these happy, smiling people – who looked down at her as she bumped into them, lurching forward, reaching out desperately for something she couldn't see, something she couldn't define. All of these blind, stupid, judgmental people. What right did they have to look at her with such disdain, or even worse, pity? She didn't want their charity. They couldn't do anything for her. She was lost in the crowd again, one in a sea of billions, being swept away by the current, drowning.

"_Damn it!_" she screamed, as loud as she could. Several people turned to stare. So they had heard her after all. The deafening roar of the sea was all in her head, right? She had to get away from them. Someone was bound to call the police on her public intoxication. "Damn it…" she muttered again, clutching her jacket close to her neck and tearing into an alley.

"_Where will you go, Miss Inoue?"_ She remembered her principal asking her the day she had been expelled. Back then, she'd had no idea. She still didn't.

Things had been so much better when Sora was around. He'd made life tolerable, even a little nice. At least he had tried. He'd encouraged her to talk to a counselor after their parents had died and he'd been left with custody of her, and even though she had refused, it was nice to know that he'd cared enough to suggest it.

Nobody cared now. Chizuru was bound to be tired of her shenanigans, and she was about the only trustworthy person in her life. Figures she'd screwed that up, too. Orihime stopped running, panting, her stomach threatening to heave out every ounce of alcohol she'd consumed. Bring it on, stomach. She couldn't possibly get any lower than this.

So she could only go up, right? Up! That was the solution. That's where she was going. She half-sobbed, half-laughed, looking around until she found her prize: a fire escape. She woozily grabbed hold of the rickety stairs and hoisted herself onto them.

Up. She had to keep climbing until she reached the top. From there she would definitely know what to do. The thin heels on her boots occasionally got stuck in the fire escape's holes, but she yanked them out, throwing off her equilibrium, and kept going. She climbed three flights of stairs, until she gracelessly swung her leg over the side of the brick building's roof and pulled herself up with a decent amount of effort.

"Woo!" she cheered, throwing her arms into the air in a gesture of triumph and staggering a few clumsy steps forward. Boy, was she ever proud of herself. All those years without PE and she'd still managed to scale a building. How awesome was _she_? She would have bet a whole ten bucks that Wonder Woman couldn't have scaled that building better. A lopsided smile spread across her face as she walked across the roof, her gait unsteady and her vision mass-producing the fuzzy lights that seemed to be dancing everywhere. She stopped just shy of the edge, staring down at the crowd below.

Yes, that's right. She was above them now. She was the one looking down on their pitiful heads, on their perfect little lives.

But they were all moving forward, oblivious to the young woman on the roof above them. Unfairly, blissfully unaware when she was so painstakingly aware of them. Those people were happy, or at least content. What in the world did they need to glare up at her for? They were happy, so they could choose to ignore the people who looked down on them. They were happy, and they had every right to flaunt it. They had earned it.

The smile dropped from Orihime's face, tears following shortly after. Her bottom lip trembled, and a cold wind blew off of the building, chilling her exposed legs. They didn't have to look at her, but she wanted them to. _Please, please… somebody notice me_. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to take a running leap off of that ledge. Surely they would have to notice her then, landing head first and going splat on the pavement in front of them. _Somebody… anybody, please…._ But they kept right on walking, heading towards their futures, whereas she was about to end hers.

_Move_, she told her feet, but they refused. _Move_. Nothing happened. A frustrated sob wracked her body. Why was she so afraid? She had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. The only man who had ever cared about her, but had abandoned her anyway, was on the other side of that leap. She would have a lot of explaining to do, but she was ready, wasn't she?

Orihime backed away from the ledge. No, she wasn't. She couldn't show up in front of Sora like this. He didn't deserve that. This wasn't his great and wonderful and sweet little sister. The girl on the roof was a whore like her mother, a drunk like her father, a body sustaining itself to spite the miserable world it inhabited by stealing its precious oxygen. That's all she was, all she ever would be. And she knew this, but her stupid heart still stubbornly clung to the hope that she could be something _more_.

She couldn't let things go back to the way they were.

Orihime collapsed onto the roof and wept bitterly, cried for more than she was worth. She cried until she'd thrown up the contents of her stomach, until she was sure that there were no more tears left in her body. She was probably dehydrated. Her throat raw, her sides aching, her muscles weak, eyes swollen, head throbbing. Everything _hurt. _Her body, her heart, her soul. She was so painfully alone. On top of the world with no one at her side, nothing to show for it.

And because she had cried so much, she finally allowed herself to think without fear of bursting into tears again; she couldn't possibly muster up the strength. Her earliest memories; of standing behind the door, wondering what that strange man was doing on top of mommy, and her mother's expressionless face as she lay there, feeling nothing; Her father whispering words she didn't understand until much later as he did to her what that man had done to her mother. Oh, but it hurt so much. How could mommy just lay there so quietly when it hurt _so much_? And it was uncomfortable, and there was something warm inside of her and she wanted it out. She took a shower. Sora was crying, bleeding. He'd tried to stop it, but he couldn't. And those words… those awful, damning words.

Orihime picked herself up off of the roof and made her way back to the fire escape, seeing nothing but her memories playing out like a film on screen. The teacher, his twisted smile, his false promises and the way he had redressed her and sent her on her way so casually. And the boys… all of those boys, too many to count, their faces blurring into a shapeless form. All she could see was the money in their outstretched hand. Her friends, how they'd recoiled from her in disgust when they had learned the horrible truth.

She wandered through the city, no longer worried about whether or not the people saw her, past the pointing of caring what they thought. Where was she going?

Sora… her brother, her caretaker, her best friend. She'd lied to him. He didn't deserve it, but she had. She remembered everything about him so clearly. How he had stood with his back straight, his expression as cold as stone as their father's casket was lowered into the ground, finally allowed to decompose into what the man had always been. She remembered Sora's smile, how much it had changed when they had been set free from that oppressive home. All the times he had made her laugh, and all the times he had comforted her when she had cried.

Orihime hadn't cried in front of anyone in years. Her brother's shoulder had been the only one she could rely on, and knowing this, he had left her anyway. No, that wasn't fair. It wasn't his fault he'd gotten sick, that they couldn't afford the medical procedure that could have saved him, or at least given him a little while longer.

Happy memories, the few that she had, of those years that she had been with him, safe, taken care of. Days when she'd had animated and cheerful friends like that crazy French girl, friends that would stick up for her like that pretty blonde from the diner in Hueco Mundo… friends that she could count on, like Chizuru. The days before she had hated everything, when there was still joy to be found in the world, even in something as simple as an anklet on her birthday.

The anklet, which had been so beautiful when Sora had given it to her, shimmering in the sun as she held it to the light to be admired. Such a precious thing… and she'd almost lost that, too. She'd lost so much; things that she had probably been searching her entire life for, but would never again find. Intangible things, like her innocence; and tangible things, like her friends. Like Sora's final gift to her, so bright in that ethereal sun, shining and wonderful and perfect in Ulquiorra's outstretched hand.

It must have been close to two in the morning, and once again she found herself with no idea as to how she'd gotten there. But she knocked and she knocked until a beam of orange light came on at her feet, the lock clicked open, and a moment later she was staring into his wide green eyes, surely a pitiful sight and smelling absolutely horrible.

"C-Can I stay with you?" Her voice was small, timid, terrified. This wasn't Orihime, the prostitute. She was someone else; not sure who, but hopefully, somebody better.

Ulquiorra took a step back and wordlessly held the door open for her as she came inside.

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Oh ho ho, what do we have here? That, to me, sounds like the story is about to pick up considerably. I'll be honest, though. Writing this chapter made me really sad. Hopefully it'll have a similar effect on y'all (you can tell I'm from the south, huh?).

What happens next? Click that review button and I'll tell you… with a new chapter. XD


	5. Conditions

**A/N: **Thank you all for the feedback on the chapter four! Have you ever written something that, when you finish it you sit back and think, "Wow, did I really just write that?" That's how chapter four made me feel. Actually, that's how this whole story makes me feel.

Now, welcome to Chapter Five! I had a lot of fun with this one, because Ulquiorra is… well, you'll see! Also, I got a question a while back that I neglected to answer (sorry!): **Why did Ulquiorra take Orihime's anklet? **Hmm… _did _he take it? This will actually come up later in the story, though after reading this chapter, you should be able to guess whether or not he did.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach!

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Conditions**

"No, wait… no, Chizuru, listen! It won't be necessary. No, I'm not in any kind of trouble. Look, can you please just – no! I didn't mess around with gangsters _or _mobsters. Trust me, I'm fine. Will you pay attention?" Orihime snapped into her cell phone, rubbing her temples. Chizuru had been talking a mile a minute since she had picked up, in that high pitched tone that suggested she was close to tears, and nothing that Orihime had said to her had seemed to penetrate her skull yet. "Calm down and listen, _please_. Take a deep breath. In, out. Again; in, and let it out. Are you calm now? Are you going to let me talk?" A whimpering yes. "I just needed to get out of the apartment for a while. I'm not in any kind of trouble so don't go running to the police, for the love of pie. And to prove that I'm a-ok, I'll keep paying the rent on the place."

"_What? How long do you plan on being gone?" _Chizuru yelled loud enough for Orihime to pull the phone away from her ear. She waited a moment to make sure there would be no more outbursts, then responded quietly.

"I don't know." Her fingers absently picked at the plain, tan bandaid on her hand. "But don't worry, okay?"

A sigh. "_Can I at least know where you are, Hime?_"

She smiled wryly. "Rehab."

Orihime gave her last reassurances and ended the call, flipping her phone closed and looking around Ulquiorra's living room. The shades were drawn, thankfully, but other than that it was the very same as the first time she'd woken up there. When she'd come to that morning she had found a cold glass of water and pain killers on a napkin next to the sofa bed. After staring at the pretty, clear glass for a moment, she had taken a careful sip of the water and found that it was absolutely delicious, with a taste like fresh air. She'd always thought that those "straight from the mountain spring" TV commercials were a load of crap, but obviously this glass proved her wrong.

The night before had gone by in a blur, but she could actually remember bits and pieces of it. She'd been told that she didn't look too good shortly before she had passed out the first time. Then, upon recovering a little bit of consciousness, she had felt a needle prick her skin.

"_Look, consent or no consent, if she doesn't get fluids she's going to die. We can worry about the details later."_

"_Are you sure?"_

"_Trust me, I'm a doctor!"_

"_Really? Because I've been hearing some rumors that…"_

"_Shh! Do you want to wake her up?"_ Someone had pried her eyelids apart then, a bright light flashing in them and obstructing her view. Orihime would have complained, but she faded again for what she guessed was a few hours. When she'd come to, she had instinctively lifted her hand to see what had pricked her, but all she'd found was a bandaid. At that time she'd heard someone moving around down the hall and had tried to seek out her purse, wanting to check the time on her phone, but she fell asleep with her arm hanging off of the bed. Thirty minutes earlier, she'd woken up to find her arm securely tucked under the blankets.

Ulquiorra, however, was not home. It kind of surprised Orihime, being that it wasn't even ten. Then again, most normal people had government jobs and worked eight hour shifts from morning until afternoon.

Her curiosity getting the best of her, she pulled the sheets off of her legs and wrapped them around her body, picking up the empty glass of water and the wet napkin on which it sat. She was going to explore, she decided as she slung her legs over the side of the sofa bed. This place was too quiet and clean to _not _be hiding some dirty little secret.

Orihime tip-toed across the living room, though she wasn't sure why. Reflex, maybe? Or perhaps she didn't want to disturb the peace that blanketed the apartment, making it seem more like a still-life painting than someone's home. She walked into the kitchen and placed the empty glass in the sink, then stared at it a bit guiltily. There were no other dishes lying around. Sighing, she reached for the tap and paused, confused by the bulbous attachment on the faucet. "What is…?" She grasped the small handle on the strange contraption and jiggled it back and forth. Nothing happened. "Huh." Giving up on that, she turned on the water and rinsed out the glass with a tiny drop of soap. The label said that it was extra concentrated, so she tried to be careful about not using too much. Last thing she needed was to cause a bubble bath in the sink.

Once the glass was dried, she wondered which of the cupboards it went in. There was a wooden mug-holder beside a coffeemaker to her left, but it was completely full. Orihime examined the ceramic cups. Seattle, Washington. Tacoma, Washington. Portland, Oregon. Sacramento, California. New York, New York. Paris, France. And then, completely out of place, a Batman mug.

So he was well-traveled and had a bit of a nerd streak in him. Not too bad, unless she found a comic book shrine in his bedroom or something.

Orihime pulled open the cupboards to the right of the sink, finding nothing but an assortment of plates and bowls stacked neatly according to size. She tried the one on the left. Jackpot! There were the glasses. She hadn't expected him to have so many, considering the fact that it looked like he lived alone. Carefully replacing hers, she closed the cupboard and turned, trying to decide where she wanted to explore next. The refrigerator began to hum. Well, that settled things!

She drew the blankets a little closer and opened the refrigerator, peering inside. It was well stocked: milk, eggs, bread, veggies, miscellaneous fruit, sliced cheese, sliced ham and turkey, a half-eaten chocolate bar… normal groceries, from the looks of it. She cautiously examined the drawers for any signs of human body parts, but the only head she found was one of lettuce. How boring. Here she'd been hoping to have stumbled onto some kind of cannibalistic conspiracy that she could report to the police and get some insane amount of reward money for. Then again, when those things happened in horror movies, the heroine usually found the crazed killer standing right behind her, poised to strike, ensuing in a fight to the death that she was way too hung-over to deal with right now.

The other drawers and cupboards consisted of canned food products and cookware. The only abnormal thing about that was the fact that he was a bachelor, and the most kitchen skills they usually had were microwave proficiency and mastery of a can opener.

Orihime left the kitchen in favor of the small closet right next to it. There was nothing inside. She grabbed the string dangling in front of her face and clicked on the light, but surely enough, the closet was empty. Shouldn't there have been coats, or shoes, or an umbrella? Frowning, she clicked the light off and closed the door. What now? She walked back into the living room and stood between the sofa bed and the table, looking around.

A television, a DVD player… what kind of movies did Ulquiorra like? She wedged herself into the space at the foot of the sofa bed and grasped the handle of the console's little door. But there were no movies there. The space was crammed with CDs, stacked alphabetically. She had just leaned in closer to inspect the titles when she heard a key being inserted into the door and, closing the console cabinet quickly, she scrambled back onto the sofa bed and messed her hair up a bit to make it look like she'd been sleeping.

Ulquiorra walked in, having come in as quietly as possible before noticing that Orihime was awake. "Good morning."

"Good morning." Orihime put on her best smile, the kind that often appealed to the customers with larger salaries. She wondered if she had made it in time to give off the impression that she _hadn't _been snooping around in his things. Her eyes followed him as he walked over to the dining table and set down a sizable stack of papers crammed into two or three file folders. His attire was far too casual for an office building: jeans, a short-sleeved black shirt and a light jacket with worn sneakers. What did he do? Maybe those documents could give her some kind of clue.

"Are you feeling better?" Ulquiorra asked, looking at her over his shoulder. "You were in quite a state last night."

Orihime ran a hand through her hair. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine." She had to channel her inner nice girl now that she was sober and questioning her reasons for coming _here_ of all places. This guy was a total stranger. Why had her drunken, emotional wreck of a self hauled her pathetic ass all the way to the Hueco Mundo district? It had made perfect sense last night. Of course, lots of stupid things made sense when one was wearing beer goggles.

Ulquiorra nodded with satisfaction and withdrew a pen from his back pocket, flipping open the first of the file folders and, after some quiet mumbling, wrote something down. "Are you hungry?" Orihime's stomach responded with a loud growl. She frowned at it. "I'll take that as a yes." Ulquiorra gave her a playful quirk of a shy smile. "Come to lunch with me?"

A lunch invitation? Orihime gestured towards the folders. "Don't you have some kind of job to get to?"

"Today, not until two. There's plenty of time," he told her. She didn't respond, and he noticed that she was eyeing her attire somewhat worriedly. "Do you need to borrow something?" Then, to her utter embarrassment he added, "A shirt, perhaps?"

Right. His shirt. She bowed her head sheepishly, and his smile lengthened a tiny bit, his green eyes lighting up with amusement. "Heh, I'm kidding. I know just the thing." And without another word, he left a confused Orihime alone in his apartment. She sighed and flopped over onto the sofa bed, the springs creaking a few times as it settled. How long was she going to stay here, anyway? Ulquiorra may have been hospitable, but he wasn't crazy. At least, she didn't think he was. What sane person would let a prostitute stay in their house?

…never mind. She could think of a few. Her eyes narrowed, lips pulling down into a frown. So those were his motives, huh? Eh, she could live with that. It bothered her, but it wasn't anything new. Men were all the same.

Besides, it would only be until she got over this weird funk she'd entered into lately. That shouldn't take more than a few days, right?

Ulquiorra returned a couple of minutes later with a garment bag slung over his arm. "Don't panic," he said, "they're regular clothes, but the person I borrowed them from is very nit-picky about the pristine condition of her attire." He held the bag out to Orihime. "That and she was the only tenant I could think of with, umm, proportions relatively close to yours." He pointed down the hall. "Bathroom's that way."

"Thanks." Orihime took the bag and laid it out on the sofa bed carefully, unzipping it. Surely enough, the clothes inside were nothing more than a blouse and a pair of jeans. She withdrew them and made her way down the small corridor, taking the opportunity to snoop a little more. A small, half-open closet revealed shelves stocked with towels and sheets. The bathroom door was just before it, and a few feet away stood the bedroom door. As tempted as she was to look inside, she didn't want Ulquiorra sneaking up on her and getting the wrong idea.

Orihime entered the bathroom and locked herself in. From the modest, impersonal decorations she guessed that this one was merely for guests. She wriggled out of her "work clothes" and tried on the borrowed blouse first. True to Ulquiorra's words, it encompassed her chest modestly. The jeans were a little long, but nothing that cuffing couldn't fix. Besides, her boots would swallow them anyway.

When she stepped out into the hall, she nearly bumped into Ulquiorra, who had just emerged from his bedroom. "Ah, it suits you," he said with the same faint smile as before. "Shall we?" 

…

Ulquiorra's car could best be compared to the kid who always got picked last for kickball: scrawny and rather pathetic alongside the other cars on the road. It, too, lacked any overly personal decorations. When Orihime pulled down the visor to block out the harsh daytime sunlight, she noticed a fading treble clef sticker, but that was all. It made sense, considering the fact that he played the piano.

He took her to a Chinese restaurant just outside of the Hueco Mundo district. Orihime usually skipped breakfast so her stomach didn't mind the heavy load of food. She had put away half a bowl of chicken fried rice before she'd caught his eye. Judging by the amused look on his face, he hadn't expected her to sport such an impressive appetite. She felt her cheeks heating up and attempted to slow down.

What now? Here they were, sitting across from each other, having lunch like friends did, but he had yet to ask her why she had come to his apartment, and she had yet to figure out what to say. What if he told her she had to leave? She'd informed Chizuru that she would be gone for a while. Where would she go from there? Maybe she could hitchhike on a train like the impoverished of the twenties, California bound. Perhaps she would be discovered by a Hollywood producer who would transform her into the next big thing.

She frowned. The paparazzi wouldn't let her rest the moment they dug up her dirty past.

"Ms. Inoue," she looked up, eyes wide. Here it came. "I want to apologize. You see, last night, I had to call over one of my neighbors – he's a doctor, we think – to evaluate your health after you fainted. He had to give you fluids through an IV, hence the bandaid. We couldn't exactly wait for your consent, so…"

Orihime glanced at her hand. "Oh, that's fine. If it was for the sake of my health…"

"Right." Ulquiorra relaxed, visibly relieved, and went back to his lunch, dipping an eggroll into the small dish of soy sauce the waitress had placed between them. That was it? Seriously? Against her better judgment, Orihime decided that if he wasn't going to address the situation, she would.

"Look, about all this, I'm really sorry. Honestly, I don't even know why I came to your apartment," she confessed, chewing her lower lip worriedly as she waited for his reply.

Ulquiorra, looking quite unbothered, reached for the plastic-wrapped fortune cookie on the table. Giving it a twist, he withdrew the cookie and placed it onto his palm. "Well," he began slowly, contemplating its v-shape, "you were drunk." She nodded once. "In your intoxicated state, you decided to come to me, which means you were under the impression that you had nowhere else to go. What this tells _me_," he snapped the cookie in half, scattering crumbs into his emptied food bowl, "is that someone you care about does not approve of your drinking."

Orihime's eyes widened, and she leaned forward across the table, dropping her voice to a whisper. "You're not psychic or something, are you?"

"No." Ulquiorra stared at her as if questioning whether or not she was serious. "My friends call me perceptive."

"That's a funny nickname," she joked to lighten the mood. He smiled.

"Look, if you need a place to escape to for a while, you're more than welcome to stay with me. Really, it's no trouble at all." His green eyes scanned the fortune, which he placed face down on the table, not seeing Orihime's mouth hang open. "I think I would prefer having _you_ there over any of my insane neighbors. Besides," he dropped the cookie into the bowl, "you need some time away from life, I'm guessing, and I need a change of pace."

Orihime had yet to close her mouth. "You _do _know that I'm a prostitute, right?"

"I was getting to that." Ulquiorra pointed a wooden chopstick at her. "According to popular opinion – in Las Noches, anyway – I'm fairly easy to get along with. However, I do have my conditions." He angled the stick and tapped the table surface. "First, you are going to get a normal job."

"A nor - !" Orihime quickly stopped, realizing that her voice had taken on a higher note. "A _normal job_? Minimum wage? Paying taxes? _Paperwork_?"

Ulquiorra shrugged. "It's whatever you decide." He frowned seriously. "My home is not a brothel. If you are going to live there, you will do so as Orihime Inoue, an honest and hard-working young woman."

She _was _honest and hard-working! She had half a mind to tell him that he looked like he could use a few days in the sun and a year or two in the gym, because if they ever got into a brawl she would knock his skinny ass out in seconds. But she bit her tongue, taking a deep breath and fighting back the urge to insult. This was her chance to become a better person, and he was practically giving it to her for free. "What are your other conditions?"

Ulquiorra leaned back and searched his pocket a moment, then threw something onto the table between them. Were those _her cigarettes_? She looked at him, then grabbed her purse and shoved it open, digging through its contents. Phone, wallet, chewing gum, makeup… but no cigarettes. She made a grab for them. Ulquiorra stopped her with a surprisingly quick stab to the palm with the chopstick he held. "No smoking," he said firmly. "That's condition number two."

Orihime's mouth opened and closed aquarium fish-style. It wasn't like she smoked often, but they were a quick substitute to her drinking, which she swore she was going to quit this time. "But…"

Ulquiorra used the chopstick to maneuver the box back to his side of the table. "Hmm. I really don't _have_ to let you stay," he said in a bored tone, hitting the cigarettes back and forth with small taps. "Though the homeless shelters around here fill up pretty quickly…" His gaze turned skyward. "The churches are always open, but you seem like the type who's gotten the forgiveness speech a couple hundred times."

Orihime's eyes narrowed. She could picture herself grabbing a fistful of his hair and repeatedly slamming his head into the bowl in front of him. "Anything else?" she asked sweetly between clenched teeth.

"Sure." Ulquiorra looked back at her. "I don't care that you drink, but I would rather not see it in my apartment. If you're going out, that's fine."

"Well, you won't have to worry about that one. I'm through with alcohol," Orihime declared, picking up the fortune he had set on the table. _Nothing will stand in the way of your success this week_. Sounded nice, and yet he'd cast it aside without much thought. She decided to take it as a reminder of what she had set out to do: kick the booze. No more getting plastered when she felt anything less than okay. The cigarettes might have been a problem, though. "Anymore conditions?"

Ulquiorra shook his head. "I'm not all that demanding."

Orihime frowned. She wasn't going to take him so lightly just because he had the face of a child lost at the mall. He'd already proven that beneath that innocent, victimized exterior laid a quick-witted manipulator. Which reminded her… "So I take it by the fact that you're not charging me for rent, you want me to pay by _other _means."

"Pardon?"

She rolled her eyes. "You don't have to beat around the bush."

Ulquiorra's thoughts could practically be seen marching across his face as he realized what she was talking about. He refocused on her after a few seconds. "You've misunderstood. All I ask in exchange for my hospitality is that my rules be respected, _nothing more_," he enunciated slowly. "Really."

Orihime wanted to call him out on a lie, but she couldn't find a single trace of dishonesty in his expression. Slight anxiety, maybe, but she wouldn't believe him just yet. He'd be feeling her up in no time.

…

Ulquiorra came up to the apartment with her, but he didn't stay long. After taking the mysterious stack of folders from before into his bedroom, he emerged with another under his arm and glanced at his watch with a small sigh. "I'll be going now. If you want to watch something, I have about six hundred useless TV channels. Oh, and movies too. They're in the side shelves."

"Sure." Orihime watched him cross to the front door. "Though I might step out myself," she added. After all, she needed to find a job. But who in their right mind would hire her without a high school degree or any form of higher education? She wouldn't be caught dead flipping hamburgers, especially for men who she might have slept with in the past. What options did that leave her? None. This was going to be harder than she thought.

"Ah, well, I'll be here when you get back so you don't have to worry about getting locked out," Ulquiorra promised before stepping out of the apartment.

Orihime waited a full two minutes before she sprung off of the sofa and ran to his bedroom, giggling mischievously. She was just going to take a quick look to see what kind of person she was living with, that was all! Her mind had already conjured up a number of possible looks for his room: all-white furniture, or maybe a coffin – being a vampire would explain his pale skin – in the middle of torch-lit darkness, or even better, a replica of the Bat Cave.

But when she nudged the door open enough to peer inside, she found a normal room. A queen sized bed, made. Forest green curtains pulled back to let in sunlight. A laptop computer, closed, sitting on top of a black desk. A short bookcase filled with a combination of thick volumes and spiral-bound notebooks. A dust-covered high school diploma.

There! Orihime tip-toed into the room towards the stack of folders – there had to have been at least fifteen of them – in a bin next to the desk. She picked one up, careful not to disturb its contents lest her snooping be discovered. It had a name on it, and inside, a printed checklist with notes written in a neat scrawl, and after that came a sizable quantity of sheet music, all for the piano. She flipped open the cover on the next folder. It was the same, only the checklist and music were different.

Expecting the rest to be similar, she replaced the folder and crossed her arms. So he was a piano teacher; nothing odd about that. She wondered what sort of people he taught. Children? Adults? Beginners or advanced? Back when her parents were still alive she had taken lessons for a whole five weeks before her father withdrew her, claiming it was a waste of money.

Orihime left the room, making sure the door was in the position she had found it in, and stood thinking in the hallway. Well, it was time to begin her job hunt. She stared at her knee high boots in dismay, wishing she had brought along a pair of flip-flops. Would Ulquiorra mind if she retrieved some of her things from home? At least some of her own clothes, though she appreciated the kindness of whoever had loaned her these tall jeans.

She touched up her makeup a bit in the bathroom before stepping out of the apartment, her mental map of the Hueco Mundo district highlighting potential hiring places. Without a car, she couldn't really look anywhere else, seeing as bus fare cost money that she could no longer spend without making back in one night.

The elevator opened with a ding, but it wasn't empty. A tall, pink-haired man wearing glasses and jeans that were tighter than any she'd ever owned stood inside. He had been glancing down at a notebook in his hand, ready to step off of the elevator, but when he saw Orihime he froze. "Oh! Just the person I was coming to see," he said, snapping the notebook shut. The elevator doors started to close and he held down a button to keep them open. "Come along. You look as if you don't have all day and, frankly, neither do I."

"Sorry." Orihime darted into the elevator, wondering who this guy was and why he'd been coming to see her. "Do we know each other?"

"No, but I did save your life last night." He held out his hand. "Doctor Szayel Aporro Granz. It's nice to officially meet you, Ms. Inoue."

She shook the offered hand timidly. So this was the guy who had shined that bright ass light in her eyes? "Nice to meet you too, Doctor Granz."

"Please! Call me Szayel." He smiled widely. "How are you feeling?"

Orihime took a moment to consider that. She wanted a cigarette – the thought of having to go out and find a _real job _was making her stressed – but couldn't have one. It wasn't a problem now, but when she was strangling Ulquiorra with the strap of her purse in a few days it probably would be. "I feel great. And don't worry; I'm not mad about the IV thing."

"Thank goodness!" Szayel wiped imaginary sweat from his brow. Then he eyed her a bit suspiciously. "Although, it's strange that you're still here despite the fact that you're feeling well." He waved his hands quickly. "Not that it's any of my business."

Of course not. Orihime rolled her eyes discreetly. "I'm, uh, staying with Ulquiorra for a while. But don't get the wrong idea."

Szayel's smile suggested that he was totally getting the wrong idea. "I won't tell anyone. Unless you want me to, that is. They're bound to find out. Especially Nelliel, on the sixth floor; you should watch out for her. She's a sweet girl but I don't think you'd get along with her very well." He gave her a quick once-over. "Hmm… yeah, she's too cheerful for you."

"That's for sure," Orihime muttered, and at his questioning look she added, "We've already been acquainted."

He laughed loudly as the elevator came to a stop on the eighth floor. "Alright then. This is where we say good-bye for now. If you're ever feeling unwell, I'm in room 807. Don't hesitate to knock." He patted her on the shoulder and sauntered out, whistling an upbeat tune. Orihime sighed. Another whacko to avoid whenever possible. What kind of doctor had pink hair?

But it was his kindness that reminded her of another offer she had yet to take advantage of. Orihime walked from the Las Noches apartment tower to the Haineko Diner a few blocks away, where she was greeted at the door by the sweet-faced teenager, Momo. "Welcome! Did you find your anklet?" she asked hopefully.

"Sure did! Thanks for your help the other day." Orihime smiled at her. "Is your manager in?"

Momo nodded. "Follow me!" she said, directing her towards the back of the restaurant. It was packed with people on their lunch breaks, either enjoying a simple coffee or wolfing down entire meals. Past the bathrooms and an entrance to the kitchen labeled _employees only_ was a somewhat large office. The door was open, and inside sat Rangiku Matsumoto, busily reviewing a chart on her desk. "Ms. Matsumoto, someone's here to visit you."

The beautiful woman looked up from her work and, upon seeing Orihime, grinned and pushed back her office chair. "Hey there, girly! Here to take me up on my offer?" She motioned for Momo's dismissal and stood, side-stepping the desk and throwing her arm over Orihime's shoulders companionably. "What can I do you for? We've got breakfast going on still, if you wanted to try some of our hash browns. They're to die for, and I'm not just saying that."

"Thanks, but I've already eaten," Orihime confessed, though her stomach churned uncomfortably at the thought of Ulquiorra and his damn conditions. "About your offer, does that apply to things other than food?"

Rangiku frowned. "What do you mean?"

Orihime took a deep breath and cringed, uttering a sentence she'd never thought she would use in her entire life. "I need a job."

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **This chapter was certainly longer than I thought it would be! I've prepared cold water for all of you, as you are probably in shock at the fact that Ulquiorra _smiles_. Don't worry, it creeps me out too.

Next Chapter: It's Orihime's birthday! How will she handle working a part time job? And the first inklings of a mystery emerge! What is our Emospada-turned-pianist hiding from his new pet – err, house guest? Leave a review and I'll tell you… eventually. :3


	6. Improviso

**A/N: **A lot of you are beginning to worry about how Ulquiorra's going to be portrayed in this fic. So far, picture him this way: You know how when you first meet someone, you're on your best behavior, but as you gradually get to know them better you drop all pretenses? That's what's going on here. Orihime gets a full dose of sarcastic, superior-in-knowledge-and-skills Ulquiorra today. She even gives him a lovely nickname!

Random Note: This chapter is named after an "improvised piece of music".

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach! …well, I do, but the kind that cleans stuff, not the anime.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Improviso**

"Previous experience?"

"None."

"Current address?"

"I… haven't memorized it yet."

"Education?" 

"Two years of high school."

"Girly, you're not giving me much to work with here." Rangiku sat at her desk, looking over the questions on her standard job application and the answers Orihime had given her. So far, the application was less than half full. "I can't have you start until we get the basics out of the way, so here's what I'm going to do." She set down her pen and slid the application across the desk. "Take this home and fill it out to the best of your ability. It's just a formality because you're already hired, but the government says I need this."

Orihime's eyes widened. "Really? I got the job?"

Rangiku smiled and leaned back with her hands locked behind her head, her shirt straining to conceal her massive chest. "Of course! I like you well enough, and I do need a new waitress for the midday shift. With school starting up in a week or two, Momo's going to be coming in a few hours later." She sat up again, pulling a schedule from a stack of papers in front of her computer. "Since you've never worked before, how does four hours a day sound, just to ease you into it? Ten to two?"

Not too early, not too late. Orihime liked the sound of that. "Sure!" She kind of wanted to ask about the pay, but she decided that it didn't matter much. Money was money, and she wasn't going to locate a better job right now. "Oh, I found my anklet!" she said suddenly, fishing the gold chain out from the inside of her boot and holding it up for Rangiku to see.

"Wow, it's gorgeous!" the older woman exclaimed, admiring the anklet. "I can see why you freaked when you lost it. Where was it?"

Orihime could have launched into the story of that fateful day, but she simply replied, "At home," with a barely concealed growl. Like it or not, Ulquiorra's place was home now, and she wouldn't let herself leave until she was mentally stable enough to survive on her own.

…

When she returned to Las Noches later that afternoon, her job application secured in her purse, she found the door to the apartment left unlocked for her. Inside, Ulquiorra was sitting at the dining table, a sleek black phone pressed to his ear. "I'm aware of that," he said to whoever was on the line, then sighed. "I remember the numbers. It wasn't all that long ago, and I… look, what do you want me to do about it? I haven't spoken a word to him in years. If you're so concerned about the money, then talk to him yourself."

Orihime hesitated by the door. He had a hand to his forehead now, rubbing his temples. What was going on? "No. _No_. I'm not going to change my mind. This has nothing to do with me anymore and I would very much appreciate it if you left me out of your petty squabbles." And without another word, he pulled the phone from his ear and ended the call, hanging up on whoever was still talking. After a tense silence, he looked over his shoulder and offered Orihime a tight smile. "Sorry about that."

"Is everything okay?" she asked, though it wasn't any of her business.

"Nothing's gotten worse. But, it's nothing little girls should concern themselves with," he replied, his gaze fixed on the piano in the corner. "How did the job search go?"

A blatant change of subject. Orihime pretended not to notice, though the 'little girl' comment had been a strike against her nerves. "It was a success! I found one." She walked over to where he sat and withdrew the application from her purse, laying it out on the table. "However, I have to finish this first, and I don't know what your address is."

"Mine?" Ulquiorra looked at her, his eyebrow arching. "Why not put yours?"

"Your place is closer!" she said quickly, glad that her hair could hide the embarrassed blush crawling to her cheeks. Just because she labeled this place her new, albeit temporary home, didn't mean its owner felt the same way. "Besides, I'm staying here, aren't I?"

Ulquiorra chuckled. "Fair enough." He reached across the table for a stack of mail and took one of the envelopes, handing it to her. But while she wrote in the address, he glanced at the application and pointed out her date of birth. "It's tomorrow."

"What is?"

"Your birthday." His green eyes met hers. "Were you planning on celebrating it?"

Truthfully, she hadn't been. Orihime had stopped celebrating her birthday after Sora died; she couldn't even remember what she'd done for last year's, though she had a suspicion that she had gotten drunk out of her mind, hence the gap in her memory. There really wasn't anything _worth _celebrating, aside from the fact that she'd no longer need a fake ID to buy beer… man, she wanted a cigarette. "No."

"Ah, that's too bad," Ulquiorra said with a shrug.

"You wouldn't have been invited to the party anyway," she told him frostily.

He cringed and held a hand to his chest. "Ouch. It pains me to hear you say that. And after all these years of friendship, flirting and sexual tension, too." Orihime bit down on her bottom lip, not wanting to laugh but unable to hold back a smile. The fact that he'd said it all in such a flat monotone wasn't helping.

"You're so full of shit."

"That's not a very nice thing to say to someone you've just met."

"What happened to all those years of friendship, flirting and sexual tension?"

"I must have had you confused with someone else." He waved his hand flippantly and stood from the table, walking towards the hallway. "I have to work tomorrow anyway. However, I promise that I will find an appropriate gift for you, Ms. Inoue. Perhaps an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting under the guise of a surprise birthday party." He ducked his head as her pen went sailing past him. "Or a paid martial arts class for you to vent all of that suppressed rage!"

Orihime scowled as he disappeared into his bedroom. What the hell kind of a joke was that? He didn't know… well, she hadn't exactly given him a decent first impression. Or a second one, for that matter. Her stomach growled, reminding her that it was dinnertime and she hadn't eaten since he'd taken her out earlier. She left the application on the table and walked after him, finding him in his bedroom, looking through the bin of folders. "Hey, so, is it alright if I get a few things from my apartment?" she asked, leaning against the doorframe. "I'm sure the generous person who leant me these clothes wants them back."

Ulquiorra lifted one of the folders and flipped it open, setting it down on the bed. "You are absolutely right," he said, turning to his closet door and sliding it aside. Orihime took the opportunity to notice that there was a surprising amount of variety in his wardrobe for someone so dull. Was that a _tuxedo _in there? Maybe he was a secret agent! The piano teacher thing was just his cover; by night he was wooing beautiful Russian spies and getting information out of them with wine and gentle lovemaking. Her eyes widened with excitement. "If you will give me just a moment, I would be more than happy to drive you there."

What was with him, anyway? One minute he was snidely commenting on her drinking problem, the next he was being nice and generous. He could have had a split personality; that would also explain the variety in his wardrobe. Who was Ulquiorra, then? She decided that he would be the kind side. His evil alter ego would be Batman. No, that didn't work, Batman was a superhero. Taco? Paco. She was going to call him Paco. Her eyes narrowed. Paco was going to get his ass kicked if he didn't watch his mouth.

"Ms. Inoue, you're staring."

"What? Oh, sorry. I thought I'd seen Satan for a moment, but I guess that was just you," she commented dryly.

"Please, you'll make me blush," Ulquiorra said tonelessly as he pulled open a file cabinet deep within the closet, rifled through it and muttered to himself. "You know, I could have sworn I had these organized by composer, but now I'm not so sure." He sighed. "How do you deal with stress, Ms. Inoue? Me, I have the strangest habit of rearranging everything in my house, furniture included. It drives the neighbors insane, but it almost feels like I've gone somewhere else for a while. For example," he patted the top of the file cabinet, "this used to be outside, in that far corner across from where you're standing, and every piece of music in here was alphabetized by title. Two months ago I had it by the desk, and everything inside was arranged from slowest to fastest tempo." He paused. "And I'm not sure, but I think I used to have a bunk bed."

"Sounds like _you _need a life," Orihime told him, though her coping mechanism wasn't much better. "I violently murder my brain cells when I'm stressed."

"So I've noticed." _Paco emerges._ "However, I won't judge you for that. There are many people out there who do the same, and unfortunately, it's hereditary. In fact, had I not found you unconscious in an alley and reeking of alcohol last week, I would never have pegged you for a heavy drinker."

Orihime blinked, surprised. "Really?"

Ulquiorra found the piece he had been searching for, closing the file cabinet with his foot and sliding the closet door back into place. "Really," he said, placing the sheet music into the folder on the bed. "You have a sweet face." His eyes met hers again, and for some reason her heartbeat stuttered a bit. "Good thing I got to know the real you, though. Now it won't be as much of a surprise when you murder me in my sleep."

"I'll only do so if you deserve it, and currently the idea is rather enticing."

"Do you want me to drive you to your apartment or not?" Ulquiorra withdrew his car keys and jiggled them at her playfully. "I could make you walk, and those boots look awfully uncomfortable. Perhaps I'll even drive ahead and, upon seeing you in the crowd, I could ask you if you need a ride. Oh, but then you'll probably just flip me the bird, call me an asshole and tell me to get lost. Am I right, or am I wrong?"

Orihime stared at him, her jaw sliding to the left, as if she were waiting out this latest blow to her patience. "Perceptive, huh? I can see where they got it." As much as she wanted to beat him to death with the nearest object, she instead closed her eyes, took a deep breath and counted backwards from ten, then opened them and looked at him again. "Ulquiorra…" she paused, "what the fuck is your last name?"

He contemplated this for a second. "Schiffer. At least, that's what was on my birth certificate, but for a few years I went by Ingram. Doesn't that sound silly?" He put the folder back into its bin and approached her. "Off we go, then. Lead me to this mysterious dwelling of yours, Ms. Inoue."

Orihime couldn't help herself. Obviously if he had brought it up, he wanted her to ask. Smug bastard. "Why the two last names?" she said as she moved out of his way and followed him down the hallway, grabbing her purse from the table as they passed it.

"I," he began somewhat cheerfully, "am an orphan," he finished darkly. "Adopted by the Ingram family at fifteen." He cringed. "But once I turned eighteen, I went right back to being Ulquiorra Schiffer. It sounded better, I guess. I wanted to ask my birth mother what she thought, but all I found of her was a tombstone in a Seattle graveyard, which dispels the myth that illegal immigrants hug the border."

"Oh God, and I thought I was depressing." Orihime shuddered. This guy just _had_ to have a few screws loose. "You say all of that so casually."

"Does it matter?" He opened the apartment door and turned the lights off, letting her out first. "When you spend your entire life being handed back and forth between people who probably couldn't give the slightest damn about you, your sense of identity tends to be left behind along the way."

Was that what had happened to her? For the longest time, she'd been Orihime, the girl who snuck off with boys during lunch to make a quick buck, but that wasn't an identity she had given herself, just one she'd gone along with. Who would she have been, she wondered, had she never been raped? The whole "productive member of society" thing still made her want to laugh. "Okay, Ulquiorra Schiffer. I think you and I should play a game of twenty questions," she said as he pressed the down button on the elevator.

"To get to know each other better? What a wonderful idea," he said in a way that left her guessing as to whether or not he really thought so. "Can I start?"

"You mean right now?"

"I thought that's what you meant." The elevator chimed and the doors swung open. Inside, a tall man with short, wavy brown hair and glasses stood with a heavy textbook tucked under his arm. "Good evening, Doctor Aizen," Ulquiorra greeted him, then turned to Orihime. "Now Ms. Inoue, if you ever want to question my sanity, you can ask this man right here. He's a psychologist."

"Nice to meet you," Orihime said sheepishly, shaking the man's hand. He smiled at her, an eerie sort of smile that had her withdrawing a little quicker than she'd meant to. Chizuru had once told her that psychologists were trained to smile a certain way to get their patients to relax. Like that wasn't creepy at all.

Ulquiorra went right on as if they were the only two people in the elevator. "Twenty questions… alright, then." He took in a deep breath, and in his most serious tone of voice asked, "What is your opinion on tomatoes?"

Silence. Orihime could have sworn she heard Doctor Aizen chuckle. "Tomatoes?"

"Answer the question, Ms. Inoue."

"They're alright, I guess. Very red." She scowled. "Why are you asking me about tomatoes?"

"Do you have any idea how important tomatoes are?" Ulquiorra went on, still completely serious. "Imagine this: you're sitting at a fast food restaurant, having just finished a delicious burger and are now eyeing the cup of greasy French fries you have allowed to cool in the interim. What will you eat them with? Dipping them in ice cream may be a suitable alternative, but women tend to worry about their weight and therefore do not often take the road less traveled. Ketchup, Ms. Inoue. We need _tomatoes _for that."

"This isn't what I - "

"Do you know how white rice is made yellow?" he went on, glaring at her as if his having to explain this was her fault. "In Puerto Rico they use a blend of vegetables, the most common being onion, cilantro, pepper and _tomato_, Ms. Inoue. Do you get what I'm saying?"

Orihime leaned forward and looked past him to Doctor Aizen. "Is he…?"

"Insane? I'm afraid not. He is in outstanding mental health," the older man said, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

"Lucky me," she growled.

Ulquiorra looked up at Aizen as well. "Isn't she rude, Doctor? Asking such a thing while I'm standing right here?" He shook his head sadly. "Don't worry, I am to blame for this failure. I've been nothing but awful to you, Ms. Inoue, and I humbly ask your forgiveness. I'm not used to having guests, is all." If this was how he treated his guests, she'd hate to see how he treated his friends. The elevator door slid open and the three of them stepped out onto the ground floor, Aizen waving his goodbye before heading for the front desk. Orihime stared straight ahead, her jaw clenched, not buying Ulquiorra's apologetic act for one second. If this was his way of trying to _politely _get her to leave, it was working. Less than a day with the guy and she was pretty sure she hated his guts.

But it was only for a little while, she told herself. And if the building's resident psychologist said he was sane, well, she had to believe that he was. Besides, now that she thought about it, she'd been the one to verbally attack him first. He could have been mad at her in his own passive-aggressive way.

"What I was going to say," Orihime told him as they walked out of the building and into the chilly night, "is that the questions in this game should be more… relevant."

"Like what?"

"Like, how old are you?" She put a hand to her chest like a counselor leading a group therapy session. "Tomorrow, I will be twenty-one." Then she looked at him expectantly.

"Ah," Ulquiorra nodded in understanding, "well then, on the first of December, I will be twenty-four."

Orihime stopped walking. "What?" That had to be a joke. With his strangely sad demeanor, the fact that he was hardly taller than her, and that he could easily pass off as a teenager… twenty-_four_? There was no way! He patiently waited for her to recover from her shock and start walking again. "So you were born in…"

"1985. I'd tell you what it was like, but I was an infant and therefore cannot remember."

"Obviously."

"I only say that because I've gotten the question before. Mr. Nnoitra accidentally allowed one of his women to escape, and they're never the brightest bulbs in the box but this one was _particularly_ special." Ulquiorra stared at her seriously. "On a side note, if you ever encounter him unattended, run away as quickly as possible. We're not sure which sewer he crawled out of, but he pays the rent and plays by the rules so the supers can't kick him out."

Orihime didn't exactly want to feel her safety threatened, but luckily, she wasn't planning on spending much time exploring Las Noches. She would hole up at "home" whenever possible, leave only for work, come straight back. It wasn't a bad plan.

Throughout the ride to her apartment building outside of the Hueco Mundo district, they fired questions back and forth, Ulquiorra's occasionally straying from relevant but otherwise keeping on track. She learned that his favorite color was white because it had endless potential, he hated both telemarketers and having to repeat himself, and that he purposefully avoided the subject of who he had been arguing with, claiming that it wasn't worth mentioning. As payback, she refused to tell him how she ended up becoming a prostitute. She'd never told anyone about what had transpired between her and her father. Like Ulquiorra's mysterious caller, it just wasn't worth mentioning. Unfortunately they reached the building before she could pry much else out of him, and vise versa.

Orihime had kind of been hoping to not run into Chizuru, as her friend would probably erupt with emotion at the sight of her. She certainly hadn't expected what happened the moment they stepped into the building. "_Hi-yah!" _In the blink of an eye, Ulquiorra found himself trapped in a headlock, doubled over as Chizuru put the squeeze on his neck. "Quick, Hime, call the police!"

"What in the world?" Orihime didn't move, strangely enjoying the sight of Ulquiorra at a disadvantage. _Take that, Paco! _"Chizuru, what are you doing?"

"Well, you said you were in rehab when you called," the older woman said, ignoring the choking sounds her victim was making, "and at first I thought that was really great. But then I realized that you would _never _go to rehab on your own – I'd probably have to drag you there kicking and screaming – so I figured that it must have been code for a kidnapping! Now call the police, Hime! I'll use my handcuffs to secure this guy to the bedpost."

Ulquiorra was now giving Orihime a pleading look. _Call off your dog, _it seemed to say. Oh, how she wished she had a camera. "Chizuru, I'm offended by your lack of faith in me and appreciate the concern but I haven't been kidnapped. I _told _you that, but you didn't listen, and now you're suffocating my friend."

"Friend?" Chizuru abruptly let go of Ulquiorra and he fell onto the floor, taking in loud gasps of air.

Orihime motioned for her to come closer and whispered in her ear, "He's the one who found my anklet." They both stared at his back as it rose and fell with each labored breath he took. "We're just here to pick up some of my things."

"Oh." Chizuru frowned. "Wait, you're shacking up with some guy you just met?"

"We're not shacking up." Orihime made a face. "Trust me, I wouldn't have sex with this guy, even if he paid me. I suspect he might be a psycho."

Ulquiorra finally recovered and carefully stood to his feet, rubbing his sore neck. "That's an impressive chokehold you've got there, Miss, uh…" He held out his hand and Chizuru shook it politely with an embarrassed smile.

"Honsho," she filled in for him, then leaned closer to Orihime. "Not bad. If I were straight, I'd have had to take him from you."

"Feel free," Orihime muttered in a flat voice. She brushed past them and fished into her purse for her keys, feeling much better after what she had witnessed. Leave it to Chizuru to make her happy. Ulquiorra followed her, keeping a safe enough distance from the other woman to immediately avoid any sort of violence that could have been directed at him.

Chizuru noticed this and held her hands behind her back in a display of goodwill. "Hime, you're not staying for your birthday tomorrow?" she asked with a pout.

"I can't." The apartment door unlocked and she turned to Chizuru with a scowl. "I have to work." She pushed the door open. "And I don't mean with men, either. _This _guy forced me to get a _real _job."

"Once again, she speaks as if I'm not here," Ulquiorra said woefully. He looked around the small, dingy living room, making some observations of his own. The place was obviously a dump. Stains on the walls and carpet, dust everywhere, holes in the worn sofa and a roach crawling up the wall that Orihime viciously kicked with her booted foot, then grimaced and wiped off on the floor. His eyebrow arched. Had she really been living in this disgusting environment for so long? No wonder she was depressed.

Orihime grabbed a plastic bag from the kitchen and went into her bedroom, headed straight for the closet. All she needed were her clothes, undergarments, all of her nice smelling bath soaps, and her makeup. She sighed, staring down at the plastic bag. "Chizuru, can you get another bag and throw all my bathroom stuff in there? Make sure that freak doesn't get past the living room."

"Anything for you, Hime!" Chizuru chirped happily, then turned a death glare on Ulquiorra. "Don't move."

He waved his hands quickly. "I wasn't planning on it." While the women moved around the small apartment, chattering animatedly, he shoved his hands into his pockets and waited, his green eyes taking in everything they possibly could. This was _her _life. Empty beer bottles on the weathered coffee table, dirty and unkempt, uncared for. There was something so deliciously sad about it all, something that he locked safely away for later. Perhaps he was a little crazy, but he'd been told early on that all musicians were, so it wasn't particularly his fault.

It was only the first day, and Ulquiorra was already beginning to see that their relationship would be more mutualistic than Orihime might have realized.

…

On the morning of her twenty-first birthday, Orihime was not surprised to find her gracious host gone. Then again, she had work of her own to attend. With the return of the application, she was allowed to follow Momo around to observe what the girl generally did while Rangiku took care of processing the documents. She got to know some of her other coworkers and, for the sake of starting over a new leaf, left out the fact that she had been whoring out her body for most of her life. The only person who really needed to know was Ms. Matsumoto, and she was still working up the nerve to tell her.

Overall, it was a short day at work. She was allowed to go home after she'd demonstrated what she had learned from Momo on a customer or two, and was given a free milkshake when she let it slip that it was her birthday. Orihime smiled to herself as she walked back to Las Noches. Maybe this job thing wouldn't be so bad. She'd heard horror stories of people who had awful bosses and petty coworkers, but everyone she had met was perfectly decent.

Upon arriving at Ulquiorra's door, she saw something new: posted beneath the apartment number was a sign drawn in marker that read **Beware of dragon**. The moment she opened the door, Ulquiorra emerged from the kitchen with a soda bottle in hand. "Good afternoon, Ms. Inoue!" he said in quiet cheer. "Do you like your birthday present?"

Orihime ripped the sign off of the door and stomped forward, determined to shove it down his throat. But Ulquiorra held a hand out in front of him before she could get much closer. "Wait!" He placed the soda bottle on the dining table and then reached out and pulled her towards him. "Sit here," he instructed, pulling the piano bench out for her, "and give me just a mi- oww," he finished as she slammed the makeshift sign into his forehead. "I deserved that."

"Yeah, no shit," Orihime grumbled, sitting on the piano bench and crossing her arms. "What is it?"

Ulquiorra peeled the sign off of his face and sat down next to her, lifting the cover off of the keys. "Your _real _birthday present," he said, then to her surprise, he reached for her chin and tilted her head in another direction, staring at her for a moment. "Okay." He turned to the piano and, after a minute of consideration, began to play.

Orihime had half-expected "happy birthday to you", but the melody that he produced was something entirely different, something that no juvenile could easily mimic. It made her heart ache so painfully that she was more than tempted to grab his hands and force him to stop. But she couldn't. She sat perfectly still, drinking in the torturously sad piece. And even though she had never heard a song like this before – she knew for a fact that she hadn't – she couldn't help but feel a strange sense of familiarity with it. When it was over, the last note hung in the air of the quiet living room like a ghost sweeping by with a gentle caress. "What was that?" she asked in a whisper, afraid of disturbing that last, lingering note.

"An _improviso_," Ulquiorra replied, replacing the cover on the keys, "meaning exactly what it sounds like."

"You _improvised _that whole thing?" Orihime's eyes widened.

He was staring at his hands now, as if seeing them for the first time. "Only in the sense that I hadn't written it down." Then he let out a short laugh and stood up, shaking his head, his back to her. "Did you like it?"

Orihime wasn't about to lie to him. "I loved it," she answered.

"Heh. Good." He waved his hand. "Feel free to weep at my brilliance."

She knew that it was meant to be a joke, but there was something weird about the way he had said it, as if the humor hadn't quite reached the comment as intended. Orihime watched him walk away with his soda bottle in hand, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. He was hiding something; that much was becoming obvious. But what sort of secrets did a guy like Ulquiorra have?

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Next Chapter: On a mission to return the borrowed clothes, Orihime requires the assistance of a certain boisterous French girl! Which one of her new neighbors will she encounter next, and what will she learn about Ulquiorra in the process? Click that review button to find out!


	7. Prodigy

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach!

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Prodigy**

Two days after her birthday, Orihime realized in sudden dismay that she had yet to return the clothing Ulquiorra had borrowed for her. The blouse and jeans were currently hanging within their garment bag in the back of the previously empty closet by the kitchen, which she had commandeered for her things. It was a nice arrangement, actually. Ulquiorra never used the closet because he kept a coat rack by the front door, so he'd given her the space for her own clothes and shoes. "We certainly can't have your personal items lying about," he'd said before throwing her a look that she had come to know well in the short time they had been together. The hooded eyes, the smug smirk tugging up the corner of his mouth, mischief abounding: It was the look of Paco emerging from his cage. "My neighbors will think I'm keeping a prostitute in here."

Had Orihime known how long she was going to stay, she would have started counting down the days until she left. But at the present moment, her eyes had glazed over as she envisioned herself strangling him with her stockings, then perhaps calling Chizuru over to help her throw his body out the window while he was unconscious. When the police came up to question her, she would either be on her way to the Canadian border, or she'd put on a good show of crying and pretending he'd been suicidal.

Orihime looked over her shoulder. Ulquiorra was at the dining table, frowning down at a notebook used for writing music. The page, she noticed, had been completely filled, so why was he staring at it as if the page was as empty as it had been when he'd sat down with it an hour ago? "Hey," she waved at him to get his attention, "these clothes need to be returned."

Ulquiorra lifted his head a slight degree with a soft "Hmm," tapping his pencil against the sheet in front of him, but otherwise he didn't even look at her. Orihime rolled her eyes and took the garment bag down from the closet, carefully draping it over her arm before closing the door.

"Well?" she asked impatiently. "I don't exactly know who it belongs to."

Ulquiorra ran a hand through his black hair, but it magically resettled, something Orihime wished her own hair would do. "I'm busy," he said, though she saw nothing busy about whatever he was doing. "You don't know sign language, do you?"

She made a face. "No."

"That is a problem. The nice woman who owns those clothes is mute." He finally tore his eyes away from his work and turned in his chair to look at her, crossing his arms and tapping the pencil against his own skin. Obviously, he was displeased at having to focus on something else for two whole seconds. "Have you, by any chance, met Nelliel? She's a French girl who lives on the sixth floor, and honestly, I'd be quite surprised if you hadn't run into her by now."

Orihime laughed. "Oh, I've met her." She shook her head, remembering the hyper, green-haired foreigner who she had magically avoided for the last few days. "She helped me look for my anklet."

"Good, good." Ulquiorra reached for the notebook, then thought twice and stood from the table, walking past Orihime into the kitchen. He pulled open a drawer by the refrigerator and withdrew a small notepad on which he quickly jotted something down before tearing off the top sheet and handing it to her. "There's her room number. If her boyfriend answers, tell him he owes me twenty dollars and if I don't see them by Friday there will be hell to pay."

"What kind of hell?" Orihime asked, unable to resist finding out what kind of revenge the meticulous pianist could come up with.

Ulquiorra shrugged. "I'll tell Nel that he's cheating on her again. May not sound like much, but when you hear the ensuing violence you'll probably wonder if the world is coming to an end." He moved his hand in a shooing motion. "Off you go. If you disturb me again, I'll glue your shoes to the hallway ceiling and staple your unmentionables to the wallpaper in the elevator."

"God, Paco, ever heard of Midol?" Orihime snatched the paper from him and stomped out of the apartment, leaving Ulquiorra in the kitchen wondering who Paco was. What the fuck was his problem? He'd been even more insufferable lately, if that was possible. Yesterday he had come back later than usual and holed up in his bedroom without saying a word to her. This morning she had been woken up by some twisted, borderline demonic version of Chopsticks that she was sure would cause her nightmares. "Whatever," she muttered grumpily as the elevator chimed pleasantly overhead. "Maybe I'll buy him a piñata to take out his diva tantrum on."

"Sounds like fun!" She gasped as she realized that the elevator was not empty. Standing inconspicuously in the corner was Gin Ichimaru, the silver-haired man who mostly ran the front desk on the first floor, his ever-present smile stretching further as he realized that he had startled her. "Sorry about that, Ms. Inoue."

Orihime stepped in next to him. "Don't worry about it." She took in a deep breath to calm her jumpy heart and pressed the button next to the number six. Gin was actually really easy to get along with, though his perma-smile was creepy as hell. "Say, what size tampons do you think Ulquiorra uses? He might be close to his period."

"Hmm, that all depends on whether or not his virginity is still intact." Gin curled his index finger in on the space next to this thumb. "I mean, if he's tight like this he might need the light ones."

Orihime giggled. She'd gotten to know Gin a little better when she'd officially listed herself as a resident of Las Noches – grudgingly; it was Ulquiorra's idea – as he was usually the go-to person for problems in the building. She was glad she could count on himfor a decent laugh, at least. If she didn't know any better, she would say that his brand of humor reminded her of someone, though she wasn't sure who. "Great. I'll get him some panty liners while I'm at it." The elevator door opened onto the sixth floor, having arrived quickly.

"Where are you going?" Gin asked her as she walked out into the hallway.

"Hell, I think," Orihime replied sullenly. She was beginning to regret not taking a pain killer before she left; Nel's cheer was bound to give her a headache. Glancing down at the piece of paper Ulquiorra had given her, she noticed a neatly written note beneath the door number. _By the way, the woman you will be addressing is Ms. Tia Harribel. Don't ask about her face._ She frowned. Well, whatever that meant, she would find out soon enough.

Orihime knocked on the appointed door and waited. From somewhere down the hall, she could hear loud, lively pop music playing and a voice yelling out instructions. "_Come on, ladies! Try again! One, two, three, four! Lift those legs!_"

Before she had time to investigate, the lock clicked and the door swung open, revealing Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck in all her German-French glory. Heavily perfumed and clad in a sky blue dress with strappy heels, her green eyes flew wide at the sight of Orihime. "Ms. Guest!" she cried happily, immediately leaning forward and kissing both her cheeks. "You have returned! You found anklet?"

It seemed as if years had passed since that wonderful day, when she'd thought of Ulquiorra as a kind, if not sad patron of goodness and charity. "Yes, I did. Thanks for your help. Oh, I kind of live here now, so you should probably stop calling me a guest," she admitted. "My name is Orihime Inoue."

"Orihime, like sky princess of folklore?"

She blinked in surprise. Well, that had certainly come out of nowhere. "Yeah. Not a lot of people know that."

Nel clapped her hands cheerfully. "I take world mythology class in college!" Then she seemed to remember her manners and stood aside. "Ah, do come in! Boyfriend is gone again. He say he is working extra hard to pay Mr. Schiffer his twenty dollars back, but I think he is off chasing after, how you say… random skanks," she said with a hint of violence as Orihime walked past her into the small apartment.

"Bummer," Orihime replied without much feeling. "Why don't you just dump him?"

Nel stared at her for a moment, then laughed and rolled her eyes. "Because I love him, of course!" And she waved her hand as if Orihime had asked her the stupidest question ever. Orihime had half a mind to slap her. "What brings you to me this afternoon?" Nel chirped, then noticed the garment bag. "Oh! You need to return to Ms. Harribel on third floor?"

"Yeah, apparently I need to know sign language?"

"_Oui_! Ms. Harribel has not spoken single word in many years." Nel shook her head sadly. "Luckily, I will help you!" She began looking around for her keys, which she found sitting on the couch. Orihime waited patiently as Nel grabbed her things and locked the apartment door before leading her outside. "What floor do you live on?" the French girl asked as she charged energetically toward the elevator.

"Fourth," Orihime replied, then added as an afterthought, "with Ulquiorra."

Sensing gossip, Nel cooed with delight, her eyes on fire with curiosity. "Do tell!"

"It's nothing, really." Orihime scowled. "I would rather _not _live with him, as he is an absolute terror, but his rules keep my mind goal-oriented."

"A terror?" The elevator door came open and the two stepped inside. "Mr. Schiffer, a terror? No, no, no, Ms. Orihime, you are mistaken," Nel said honestly, pressing the button next to the number three. "Mr. Schiffer is very kind person. Usually quiet and out of the way, very fair." She nodded, quite sure of herself. "We like and respect him a lot."

Orihime stared at Nel as if she had suddenly sprouted half a goat body. "Is there another Mr. Schiffer in the building?" she asked, just to be certain. Now she was definitely considering the split personality theory. He had these nice people convinced that he was some kind of saint? Then again, he'd had her pretty convinced in the beginning, before she had gotten to know Paco on a personal basis.

Nel shook her head. "You and boyfriend Grimmjow both, I do not understand. Boyfriend is very, how you say, _wary_ of Mr. Schiffer. He acts as if that nice man is some kind of monster. And me, I just laugh and say, 'But _mon cher_, he is shorter than myself!' How could such small person be evil?"

Orihime felt goosebumps rising on the skin of her arm. This was _way _creepy. What if he was one of those psychopaths she'd read about? No, Doctor Aizen would have warned her about something like that. Then again, the psychologist had been fairly eerie himself. Maybe there was some kind of conspiracy going on in Las Noches. What if she had accidentally stumbled into an apartment building for crazy people? She looked up at Nel, feeling a bit frightened. Was she being led somewhere to be experimented on? Oh, how she wished she had brought along the mace she kept in her purse.

"Here we are!" Nel said as the elevator ascended to the third floor and opened for them. The room they were looking for wasn't very far down the hall, and she knocked on the door rhythmically, suggesting to Orihime that she ought to memorize that knock for the future. "Ms. Harribel, it is Nelliel! I have brought guest!"

After a moment, the door opened, and a tall woman with dark skin, blond hair and a rather athletic build stood before them. Orihime immediately saw what Ulquiorra had meant by not asking about her face; the woman's mouth was completely covered by the collar of her jacket, revealing nothing underneath, which was strange considering that her outfit allowed most of the rest of her body to be seen. Nel pushed Orihime forward, encouraging her to speak. "Uh, hi," she started off lamely, wanting to kick herself. "My name is Orihime Inoue, and I wanted to return this to you." With shaking hands, she held out the garment bag to the woman. "Ulquiorra borrowed them for me a few days ago. I'm sorry I didn't bring them back sooner, but thank you for lending them to me. They were a lot of help."

The woman took the garment bag wordlessly, but she offered Orihime a kind nod. Then she signed something, which Nel translated effortlessly. "She asks if you are new to building."

Orihime smiled. "Yeah, I am. I guess I'll be seeing you around more often?"

Tia Harribel nodded again, then motioned for them to stay put and retreated into the apartment. Orihime noticed that this one was bigger than Ulquiorra's; did they get larger the further up one went in Las Noches? It was impeccably clean, and hanging on the wall was a portrait of a younger Harribel with three other girls, all of them wearing similar outfits and smiling happily. One of them was dark skinned like her, the other two fair-skinned, and Tia seemed to be the only blond among the group. Orihime looked at Nel questioningly, pointing out the picture. "I tell you later," Nel whispered in reply.

Tia returned then and presented Orihime with what appeared to be a store coupon. She examined it curiously. "Ms. Harribel runs clothing boutique in Hueco Mundo district," Nel explained for her, "and new neighbors always get something free!"

"Oh!" Orihime looked up at the woman, whose sharp green eyes were narrowed in a manner that suggested she might have been smiling beneath the collar of her jacket. "Thank you very much." And Ms. Harribel nodded again before signing a farewell and closing the door. Orihime and Nel walked back toward the elevator, mission accomplished. "I didn't want to seem rude, but the whole collar thing was kind of weird."

Nel nodded. "It is very sad. A few years ago, Ms. Harribel was driving car when she lost control and swerved off of road. Terrible accident… it was all over local news." She shook her head. "The worst part is that her three little sisters, who were in car with her, all died either instantly or of injuries. Ms. Harribel has not spoken single word since accident out of incredible grief."

Orihime cringed, looking back at the door they had left behind as the elevator chimed overhead. The poor woman… "_Bonjour _Doctor Granz!" Nel's voice refocused her attention. Inside the elevator stood the pink-haired doctor carrying a huge file in one hand and a bag of medical instruments in the other.

"_Bonjour_ Nelliel! And Ms. Inoue, too? Why am I not surprised?" He moved aside to let them in, grinning from ear to ear.

"Were you visiting Mr. Luisenbarn on second floor? I will be there later," Nel said, then turned to Orihime to explain. "Mr. Luisenbarn is old family friend from Germany, who lives on second floor and found apartment for boyfriend and I when we come from France. He is ninety years old and in failing health, unfortunately."

"And I attend to his medical needs," Szayel added, looking rather proud of himself. "So Ms. Inoue, how goes life with Ulquiorra?"

"Rotten," Orihime replied dismally, taking in a deep breath for the rant that was about to burst from her. "He's sarcastic, mean, spoiled, dramatic, manipulative, whines like a little bitch when he doesn't get his way, and he's utterly two-faced. I hate him with a burning passion and, if allowed, I would probably push him down this elevator shaft and laugh when his innards splat all over the basement floor."

Szayel and Nel exchanged confused glances, then the doctor replied. "Are you sure this is _Ulquiorra_ you're talking about? Black hair, green eyes, on the short side, always wearing a victimized expression?"

"That's the one," Orihime muttered, realizing that nobody had pressed a floor button yet so the elevator was stuck in place. "And that's after less than a week of living with the guy. God forbid I have to stay here for longer than a month." She sighed. "I mean, it wouldn't be so bad if his moods didn't swing as often as they do. He's got to have a split personality or something – I call the asshole-ish one Paco – because he's had his decent moments. Like on my birthday! He played me this really nice piece on the piano - "

"Whoa, whoa! Hold the phone!" Szayel dropped his bag of instruments and both he and Nel leaned closer, their eyes widening. "He _played_ something for you?"

"Was it something you have heard before? Like 'Moonlight Sonata' or 'Claire de Lune'?" Nel demanded.

Orihime pressed herself back against the wall. These people were getting _way _too close to her. "No, I'd never heard it before, but I'm not exactly a classical music buff. He could have played me the most well known piece in the piano world and it would've gone over my head."

"What did it sound like?" Szayel asked eagerly.

"Umm, sad?" She remembered the way the notes had surrounded her heart, determined to squeeze it until the poor, abused organ burst. "Borderline depressing." Then she realized that their sudden, overly abundant interest was more than a little queer. "Why do you ask?"

Szayel and Nel drew back, sharing a glance before looking down at her. "Ms. Orihime, do you even know who you are living with?" Nel asked, not unkindly.

She frowned. "Yeah. Ulquiorra Schiffer, an emotionally unstable musician; which, now that I think about it, isn't all that strange."

"No, no! You silly girl." Szayel shook his head in disbelief, then anxiously motioned for Nel to carry on. The green-haired girl inhaled deeply, as if ready to launch into a lecture on the significance of teaching history in elementary schools.

"Mr. Ulquiorra Schiffer," she said slowly, "is a piano prodigy, considered to be genius in the classical music world. He has been composing since he was three years old, had first major concert at five, has been on countless radio and television shows and many magazine interviews. At twelve he wrote score for a Broadway musical using only piano, helped by others to convert to other instruments."

"Don't forget the opera," Szayel said, crossing his arms.

"Ah, yes, he wrote music and lyrics for opera, too, called _L'acqua Di Vita_, which is Italian for The Water of Life," Nel added. "His compositions are so popular that you can still find them on piano collection CDs. Once, I heard one playing while ordering latte at café down the street."

"I heard one when I was at the bookstore last week."

"The point being," Nel grabbed Orihime by the shoulders, "six years ago, Ulquiorra stopped playing. He canceled performances, tours, and simply dropped off of face of planet. Nobody knew why, and nobody knew where he went."

"Except for us," Szayel took over, frowning. "Nel and Grimmjow weren't here yet, but you can imagine how surprised the older of us were when world-renowned, eighteen-year-old Ulquiorra Schiffer turned up in Las Noches, of all the God forsaken places on Earth, looking for an apartment." He sighed. "No one ever asked him why he disappeared so suddenly. He's never volunteered to talk about it. The few times that anyone has ever heard him play the piano, it's all been classical songs and Christmas carols when we have our yearly shindig."

"However, his neighbors say that sometimes they have heard him trying to compose something. He does not get very far." Nel's bottom lip stuck out unhappily.

"Whatever made him stop has completely killed the guy's inspiration," Szayel said. "Then again, looking at the last few things he composed, it seemed as if it had been a long time coming."

"What do you mean?" Orihime asked.

"Well, he used to write all kinds of music. But the last one or two CDs his record company churned out were so dark and sinister that critics claimed it gave them chills." The doctor shivered. "And they were right. The second to last CD… my God. He must have been pretty fucked in the head, pardon my language."

Orihime stood in front of them, and it was odd but she felt… _betrayed_. Here she'd been living with the guy long enough for him to know that she was a prostitute, but he hadn't thought to inform her that he was an angst-ridden ex-celebrity? The fact that he had skeletons in his closet certainly explained his moodiness, and made the mystery of who he had been arguing with on the phone that much more interesting. But still, he could have given her a heads up. That actually kind of pissed her off. "Huh," she said, cocking her head to the side. "Well, that's good to know. Thank you for telling me."

Nel pressed the numbers four, six and eight for them, finally prompting the elevator into action, but both she and Szayel seemed lost in thought. "She hasn't heard any of his other pieces – "

" – not that she knows of, anyway – "

" – so he could have been playing something from the past?" Nel finished, sounding unsure.

Orihime remembered the notebook Ulquiorra had been glaring at earlier, as well as what he had told her after playing the piece for her. "No, it wasn't, because he said he had improvised it," she informed them. "And he was writing it down today."

"Oh my God." Szayel's eyes flew wide.

"This is _magnifique!_" Nel squealed as the elevator came to a stop on the fourth floor. "Ms. Orihime, please do come tell us if he composes anything else! Oh, I am so excited! I must call Grimmjow and tell him!"

"Yeah." Orihime stepped out of the elevator and waved at them. "I'll see you guys later, okay?" Irritation was beginning to gnaw at the edges of her mind again. She needed a cigarette to calm her nerves, or a beer to help her think, or some really good drug to make her forget the fact that she was mad at Ulquiorra. But she had neither, and so the moment she entered the apartment and found him frowning down at his notebook again, she slammed the door shut and crossed her arms. He didn't even flinch. "I'm back."

"You took your time," Ulquiorra said distractedly.

Orihime marched straight to the console that housed the television and movies, prying open the front cabinet where he kept his CDs. Sure enough, after scouring through various piano CDs, the occasional classic rock album, and some live concerts she found a small stack of unlabeled discs hidden between the others. She withdrew them and looked at the words written on each. _1995 – 1997, final. Piano Collection II, final. L'acqua Di Vita, w/o vocals. _There were at least twelve of them wedged into her hand, all the final cuts of the CDs before being released in stores. Orihime's jaw clenched. "Hey, so, thanks for letting me in on the whole celebrity thing," she said in a mock-casual tone as she jammed the stack back into place. "It's not like it was all that important, and besides, it was fun hearing it from other people. Made me feel really fucking smart."

When she closed the console cabinet and stood up, she gasped loudly as she turned to find Ulquiorra standing right behind her. He didn'tlook happy. "Who told you?" His voice was low, even. Orihime was finding it harder to keep up her own anger.

"What does it matter? The entire fucking building knows, right?"

Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed, and Orihime could have sworn she saw his jaw clench. "It's none of your business."

"Of course it isn't! _They _aren't the ones who live with you, and yet they get to know and I don't? That's perfectly fair!"

Orihime cried out in alarm when, without warning, he drove his fist into the wall behind her, the loud _thud _surely making the next door neighbors jump. She stood frozen, eyes wide, watching the anger that had propelled his arm die almost as quickly as it had surged. "Of course it's fair," he said quietly. "_You_ are _my_ guest, woman. I'll tell you whatever the hell I feel like telling you, and if you can't deal with that, the door is right there."But he didn't sound like he meant it. He sounded tired, like punching the wall had taken all of his strength away.

"Why don't you just kick me out if you want me gone?" she whispered, hating herself for sounding so scared.

Ulquiorra said nothing. He withdrew his hands, examining the one he had hit the wall with. His knuckles were bleeding, and his entire arm shook in pain. "Damn it." He turned away from her, shoving his hands into his pockets and feeling for his keys. "I'll be back later."

Orihime watched him as he retreated, her weak knees finally giving out when the front door closed behind him. The million dollar question now was, _who_ would he be when he came back?

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Oh my. Who's the one with suppressed rage now? And what sort of skeletons does our favorite Emospada-turned-human have swept in his closet? We'll find out sooner or later, 'cause I don't think Orihime is going to be questioning his motives for a while.

Next chapter: Ulquiorra is on his period and Orihime meets Nel's cheating, scumbag boyfriend!


	8. Things That Go Bump In The Night

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach!

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Things That Go Bump In the Night**

Orihime decided two things while she lay on the sofa bed, staring at the ceiling as she waited for sleep to come and claim her. First, if Ulquiorra hadn't kicked her out, she wasn't leaving. He could throw as many tantrums as he wanted, but she would stay until he pointed at the door and told her to go. Second, she was going to avoid him until he calmed down, for upon inspecting the bloody spot on his wall she found a small crater in the surface. Nothing that couldn't be covered up with paint, but she wasn't taking her chances.

It was two in the morning when Ulquiorra finally returned to the apartment, and upon hearing the key enter the door, she threw the blankets over her head and tried her best to even out her breathing. Not that he would be able to tell that she was awake in the dark, but just in case, she didn't want him to get the idea that she'd stayed up waiting for him. It'd be a slow day at Wal-Mart before _that_ happened.

Orihime listened as his footsteps moved toward the kitchen. A few seconds later, she heard a cabinet open and close, glass clinking together, the sink running, and then the rattle of a pill bottle. This went on for a while, she guessed, as he struggled to open it. A moment of silence, then a soft sigh and the sound of the glass being placed into the sink. She lay as still as possible when she heard his footsteps approaching. They stopped at the bedside. Sorely tempted as she was to crack an eye open and see what the damage to his hand was, she definitely would have been found out that way. But why was he just standing there? Had he really expected her to leave?

A minute passed. What the hell was he doing? Her mind reciprocated with all sorts of disgusting scenarios, but she didn't hear anything. Just breathing. She wanted to look. The curiosity was driving her nuts. But just as she was about to give in, she picked up the sound of his shoes scraping against the carpet, footsteps retreating into the corner of the room where the piano sat. Then came the barely audible _thunk _as the cover was moved away from the keys. Orihime opened her eyes, knowing that from where he was he wouldn't be able to see her face, blocked by the pony wall that separated the entry from the living area. She listened, waited.

And then he started to play. Her breath caught in her throat as the soft notes filled the quiet apartment. The bass carried the melody, which would have been strange had she not seen him punch the wall earlier. His right hand was probably in too much pain to do anything other than support the left with dainty chords. It was something Orihime had heard very few times, something she could only imagine was very hard to pull off.

_It's so soothing, _she thought, closing her eyes. It seemed almost unreal that a person like Ulquiorra, with a horrible personality and unpredictable temper, could create such beauty. Had it been her trying to play, she thought a bit sadly, she would never have been able to bring such peace to a troubled soul, such relief to a broken heart, and delicious sleep to the restless.

And in her dreams she saw him, standing out against the darkness of a rainy night.

_Please, please… somebody notice me._

Those vivid green eyes looked right at her while others continued to pass on by.

_Somebody… anybody, please…_

And he dropped his umbrella, joined her at rock bottom, scooped her into his arms, and carried her off to the top of the world…

Orihime woke with a start. She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. Sunlight streamed in through the window behind the dining table, casting slivers of gold across her body. What had _that _been about? The piano stood abandoned in its corner. She listened for a moment to the stillness that surrounded her, then checked the time on the DVD player. _8:45_, and Ulquiorra was already gone.

…

"A gift for a pissed off roommate?" Rangiku leaned over the bar, having overheard Orihime and Momo's conversation. The two stood at their post by the diner's front door, having lively discussions between greeting customers and directing them to empty booths. Orihime had learned a lot about Momo since starting; the girl was beginning her junior year of high school the coming week; she absolutely loved the fall; and she had a boyfriend that her parents and friends didn't approve of because he was much older than her. Rangiku had never seen her boyfriend, despite the fact that he often picked Momo up after work. The over-protective manager made it no secret that she disliked the idea of such a sweet, naïve girl dating an older guy. _It'll just cause trouble in the end, _she'd said with a motherly finger-wag.

Orihime leaned against the podium, absent-mindedly rearranging the crayon boxes that went along with the kids menus. "Yeah… I need a decent peace offering." She'd come to the conclusion that she was partially to blame for Ulquiorra's outburst, and as such, she wanted to extend an apology, especially if his hand was broken – which was his own fault, but still.

"Candy always works. What kind does your roommate like?" Momo asked politely.

Other than the chocolate bar in the refrigerator, Orihime hadn't seen Ulquiorra indulge in anymore sweets. But now that she thought about it, she knew something that could put a smile on _anyone's_ face. "Oh! I've got it! Thanks, Momo." She hugged the short girl tightly, as she had also learned that Momo was very affectionate and enjoyed hugs. It was like being friends with a watered down version of Nel, which was much easier on her nerves.

"I was going to suggest taking her out for a spa treatment," Rangiku said, examining her nails. "I'd die for one of those."

Orihime snorted with laughter. "I forgot to mention; my roommate's a guy," she informed them between giggles. If she took Ulquiorra to a spa, he would probably drive off and leave her there, especially if she suggested that it might be a good idea for him to get his eyebrows waxed, at least.

Momo's face went red. "R-Really?" she squeaked.

"A guy that you aren't dating?" Rangiku leaned even further across the bar, giving the customers in the booths along the window a nice view of her cleavage. "Is he gay?"

"It wouldn't surprise me," Orihime replied. "His apartment is so clean it's almost scary, he's always fashionably dressed, _and _he can cook." She tucked her orange hair behind her ear and smiled as a family of three came in and Momo led them to an open table. "Anyway, his questionable sexuality aside, I kind of overstepped my boundaries yesterday and he got mad – " and violent, she neglected to add " – so I'm bringing him some pie."

Rangiku sighed in despair. "From Urahara's shop, right? It's the only pie in the entire city that's better than ours. Even I'll admit that," she said with a pout.

Orihime patted her hand sympathetically. "It's alright. You've got the best hash browns."

"True that."

At the end of her shift, she took a bus out of the Hueco Mundo district and jogged a few blocks to the bakery. She'd had to ask Rangiku to let her go early so she could get there before they closed at two, and by the time she arrived, she was completely out of breath from her run. Inside, Urahara himself had just come out of the back with the last pie of the day, which he placed onto a crystal dish and covered with a clear lid. "Ms. Inoue! It's been a while since I've seen you around!" he greeted her cheerfully.

"Hey, Mr. Urahara. It really has been a while, huh?" Orihime panted, placing a hand to her chest. "Phew! Sorry about that. I moved recently."

"Oh yeah? Where to?" He sat on the counter with a flirtatious grin, ringing the bell that had been placed there to summon a cashier. The little girl with the sad face came out, her black hair in two long pigtails, wiping her hands on an apron. "Ururu, get Ms. Inoue her usual."

"Two please! Make them to go?" Orihime added. "I'm all the way out in the Hueco Mundo district now."

Kisuke shot her a suggestive look. "Closer to work?"

"For your information," Orihime fished into her purse for the appropriate amount of money to cover the two pie slices, "I have a _real _job now," she said, handing him a few bills. "I thought you of all people would have noticed that I'm not dressed like a tramp today." Then she quickly pursed her lips together, remembering that Ururu was standing within hearing range.

The little girl looked at her with a woeful expression, then placed the boxed and bagged pie slices onto the counter. "You don't look like a stray dog, Ms. Inoue."

How cute. Orihime kind of wished she could take her home, but she was trying to make amends with Ulquiorra, not annoy him further. "Thank you, Ururu. You're such a sweet girl." She patted her on the head and took the pie slices. "What's next month's flavor?"

"Blueberry." Kisuke tipped his bizarre striped hat. "I'll be sure to make one especially for you, in honor of the new job and all."

"You're the best." Orihime gave him a sugary smile, one that was sure to convey the fact that she wasn't going to sleep with him for it. "I'll see you then," she turned towards the door, calling out over her shoulder, "and get some real employees before you get arrested for breaking child labor laws!"

"Ururu is not my employee, she's my assistant!" Kisuke yelled.

Orihime held the boxes protectively against her chest as she walked down the street. Now that she thought about it, this could have been a bad idea. What if Ulquiorra didn't like pie? Well, more for her, in that case. But she was worried that he would still be angry, or even avoiding her. She sighed glumly. It was just her luck to fall into such stressful living arrangements. Staying in a crack house in exchange for sex hadn't been nearly as much trouble. No, she'd never had to guess anyone's moods back then. They had all been too stoned to feel anything.

The smell of the pie enticed her all the way back to Las Noches, where she was informed upon stepping into the building that the elevators were out of order. "Are you serious?"

"'Fraid so." Gin drawled with his usual smile from behind the front desk. "Maintenance is already working on it, though. Should be up and running by tonight." He opened his eyes a bit wider, taking in the uniform that Rangiku had recently presented her with. "You workin' at that new diner down the road? How's the food?"

"Delicious, but my opinion is biased. You should stop by sometime and see for yourself." Orihime said as she mentally prepared herself for the climb. Why oh why couldn't the fourth floor _literally_ be the fourth floor? She'd already tired herself out running around the city.

"Maybe when I get some spare time," Gin laid back lazily in his chair, looking like he had all the spare time in the world. "Good luck!"

Orihime was not pleased. She groaned when she opened the door to the stairway and looked up at the distance she had to cover. Then she proceeded to grumble for three flights of stairs, pant for the next two, and sit on the first of the sixth flight to catch her breath. Damn, she was out of shape. When was the last time she'd done her sit-up regiment? Her labored breathing echoed in the enclosed space, but she could hear footsteps further up and down. At least she wasn't the only one who had to suffer.

"_Pretty girl sitting, on a step to catch her breath, looking rather pissed."_

"Nice! I liked that one, bro."

Orihime tilted her head back, finding herself staring up into two pairs of curious eyes. It was the tall, scruffy guy and the provocatively dressed preteen, who unfortunately, was still provocatively dressed. "Umm… hi?"

The girl put a hand on her hip, which pulled up a side of her miniskirt and almost revealed her panties, much to Orihime's horror. "This is the second time we've seen you 'round these parts. You new?"

"I guess you can say that." Orihime stood and picked up the bag containing the pie slices. She noticed that the preteen's skirt was actually part of a uniform; shirt, vest, beret, a sash decorated in various patches… she was a girl scout! Wow, how long had it been since she'd seen one of _those_? Not that girl scouts often hung around the slums she had previously inhabited. Didn't they have regulations for skirt lengths? The tall guy, who she figured must have been the girl's older brother, had a crate full of cookie boxes balanced on his shoulder. "You guys are selling girl scout cookies?"

"Yeah! Wanna buy a box? Normally I wouldn't go around harassing the neighbors, but this stuck up bitch in my troop keeps saying she's going to out-sell me," the girl spat viciously. Oh my God, what kind of language…? Why in the world hadn't the tall guy smacked the mouth off of her? If Orihime had said something like that in front of Sora, he'd have shoved a bar of soap between her teeth. And that miniskirt! The girl held out her hand. "I'm Lilynette, by the way. This is my older brother Starrk. He's a poet and a songwriter, but he totally sucks at it, hence the crappy haiku."

Starrk snapped out of his daydream. "I do not."

Lilynette rolled her eyes. "He thinks he's amazing just because he wrote _one _really catchy song that's paying the rent on our apartment." She motioned for Starrk to bring the crate down to Orihime's level. "Pick whatever you'd like! They're two bucks a pop."

Orihime gave her an apologetic look. "Sorry, I'm out of cash." She pointed out the bag in her hand. "If I hadn't bought this pie…"

"Crap on a stick!" Lilynette snapped her fingers. "Ulquiorra's the only one we've been able to sell to, and we all know he's just humoring me because he doesn't like these cookies." She frowned, let out a huffy sigh, then smiled up at Orihime. "Well, that's okay. We've still got a whole building to cover, and Nel always gets a ton. Anyway, it was nice meeting you, neighbor! Come on, Starrk." And with that, she skipped ahead and pulled open the door to the fifth floor.

Starrk nodded at Orihime politely. "What she said," he murmured before walking after his sister. Well, it was obvious who was in charge there.

Orihime gathered up what was left of her energy and covered the last flight of stairs, her calves aching in protest. Thankfully she wouldn't have to go through this again if what Gin said was true. She reached for the handle on the door that led out into the hallway, but it swung open before she could put in much effort.

And there, standing in front of her in obvious surprise, was Ulquiorra. Orihime was certain that the color had drained from her face, because currently she felt all the blood sinking to her feet, making them too heavy to move. They stared at each other, neither saying anything for ten seconds too long. She glanced down at his right hand. It was tightly wrapped in a splint, the cuts on his knuckles scarred over. Her eyes swept back up to his face, which had taken on an unreadable expression. Oh dear, this was pleasantly awkward. Clearing her throat, Orihime said the first thing that came to mind. "I-I brought pie."

Ulquiorra nodded slowly. "It smells good." Silence. Orihime stared down at her shoes. A middle-aged couple walked past on their way to the ground floor, paying them little mind.

Orihime lifted her eyes. "Umm… can we talk?"

Ulquiorra nodded again and stood aside to let her into the hallway. They walked quietly back to the apartment, which he unlocked and closed once they were both safely inside. She immediately noticed the three boxes of girl scout cookies sitting on the kitchen counter, and all of a sudden, she was mad again. Where was nice Ulquiorra when she wanted to have a decent conversation? Did nice Ulquiorra even _exist_? Maybe he was suffocating somewhere within the blackness of Paco's demonic soul. But she kept her anger in check, remembering her purpose. Apologize, apologize, apologize –

"Ms. Inoue, I'm sorry for yesterday," Ulquiorra said before she could even open her mouth. "I've been having a bit of a stressful week, and it was wrong of me to take it out on you in such an inappropriate manner."

Orihime deflated, her shoulders sagging. "No, I'm the one who should be saying sorry." She sighed, moving past him and setting the pie on the counter next to the cookies. "I'm a frosty bitch, which I really have no right to be when you've been kind enough to let me stay here. And I absolutely can't stand being lied to, or in this case, being left out of such an important loop, which is why I got so angry. But you're right; your business is your business. I shouldn't go sticking my nose where it doesn't belong."

"But you were also right, Ms. Inoue. As an inhabitant of this apartment, there are things that you should know, though I would like to think that the same applies to me."

"Okay," she turned and crossed her arms over her chest. "What do you want to know?"

Ulquiorra stood staring at her with the same kicked puppy face he had worn as he'd given her back her anklet. "I want to know why you became a prostitute."

"And I want to know why you stopped playing the piano."

"I never stopped playing the piano, Ms. Inoue. You heard something from me on your birthday."

"I meant why you stopped playing professionally."

It was a deadlock. Neither of them could proceed. Orihime withdrew one of the boxes from the plastic bag she'd brought in, popped it open and went into the kitchen for a fork. No way was she going to let the pie get cold in favor of a staring match. "It is apparent that there are some taboo subjects here," Ulquiorra said finally. He walked over and sat down on the piano bench while Orihime began to dig into her slice. "Alright then," he tapped his chin thoughtfully, "I want to know what annoys you, Ms. Inoue."

Orihime snorted. "Lots of things. Children screaming in restaurants, the barking of small dogs, politicians, the fact that you won't let me smoke and damn, do I ever need a cigarette."

"I believe that you've been getting along quite well without them," Ulquiorra answered without skipping a beat. "However, that's not what I mean. I want to know what annoys you about _me_."

"Why, are you going to try and change for my sake?"

"Absolutely not. I'm just curious."

Orihime threw down her fork and turned on him. "_That_. That annoys me. It pisses me off like you wouldn't believe," she said, approaching him and jabbing her finger into his chest. "The way you're nice to everyone and their mother, but you just _love _to poke fun at me. Why is that, Ulquiorra?"

"Because it's easy."

"Because it's…" She closed her mouth and scowled.

Ulquiorra shrugged. "I'm not nice to _everyone_. Then again, it depends on what counts as kindness in your book. See, buying girl scout cookies from Lilynette is not what I would consider to be nice. If anything, I am fueling her destructive hatred for this other girl in her troop, and besides, it's not like I'm going to eat the cookies. Have you ever, for example, been given a gift at Christmas and handed it off to somebody else because you didn't like it?" Orihime stared at him, her mouth slightly slack. "You'll swallow a bug, Ms. Inoue." He lifted his injured hand and pressed her bottom jaw to her top. "Much better."

"You…" she growled, forcing her arms to stay at her sides for fear that she would strangle him.

"Look at it this way, Ms. Inoue. Poking fun at you is the only way I can truly be myself." He shoved his hands into his pockets. Orihime heard his cell phone chime, which he glanced at very briefly before turning his attention back to her. "For eighteen years I did nothing but smile and be courteous, trying to get out of that orphanage and then trying to please the Ingram family. I conducted myself professionally in order to win over audiences. I'm kind – at least, what you would consider to be kind – to my neighbors so that they won't go telling the entire world that I live here; a matter of self preservation, really." His green eyes narrowed. "And can you believe how good it feels, after all those years of prancing around like an idiot, to be a little antagonistic every once in a while?"

"So you're keeping me here as a punching bag!"

"No. I simply use you as a punching bag because I believe that you're strong enough to tolerate it," he said with a smirk. "If I treated Nelliel this way, the poor thing would cry."

Orihime didn't know what to make of that. She was pretty sure that he had just complimented her in a very strange way, but she still felt like sucker-punching him in the stomach, so it couldn't have been all that good. Still, something else was bothering her about this. He was… being _honest_ with her. Since when was _any _man honest with her? It was strange, it was new, and it sent her mind reeling. Was he challenging her carefully built and consistently proven notion of the world?

"And now that you know the reason behind my madness," Ulquiorra stepped around her and fished the second slice of pie out of the bag that she'd brought it in, "I'm going to enjoy this delicious-smelling dessert."

"Wait." Orihime joined him by the counter, reigning her thoughts back in to Earth. "Before you do that, I think we ought to establish some boundaries in regards to our taboo subjects. You know, to avoid anymore wall-punching or not-so-accidental homicides."

"Agreed. We will get along much better if we don't bring them up, right?"

"Right! I won't ask you about your past, and you won't ask me about mine." She shoveled a bite of pie into her mouth. "It's not like it matters anyway."

Ulquiorra cast her a sidelong glance as he pried the container open. Was she lying, or was she simply trying to convince herself that it didn't matter? If it was as unimportant as she said, she wouldn't be there. He knew that eventually he was going to break their new rule and ask her about it, but he kind of hoped that she would crack before he did. In that case, he would have no choice but to tone it down and be nice to her so he could get – good God in heaven, that pie was orgasmic.

He'd worry about the details later. For now, he would continue to let her believe in that 'kindness' of hers. Nice enough to let her stay, huh? Ah, if only she knew…

…

After such a long and stressful day, Orihime passed out the moment her head hit the pillow that night. But for some odd reason, she was sleeping very lightly, her dreams eluding her. And a few hours after she'd gone to bed she could have sworn she heard the front door opening and closing. She was too tired to investigate. Maybe Ulquiorra had been summoned by the bat signal, or the head of his secret agent organization, or perhaps he was going to feed on the blood of innocent virgins. Hmm. In that case, it might have been worth getting up to follow him.

The sofa bed suddenly pitched to the side. Orihime's eyes flew wide open, the sleepiness chased away in an instant. She felt the mattress sink as somebody moved onto it, too close to her for comfort. So he was finally making his move, huh?

_Okay, Orihime, we're going to handle this like a big girl_, she told herself, but the moment she felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder, she opened her mouth and shrieked as loud as she could.

Down the hall, Ulquiorra bolted upright in bed as the panicked screaming continued, now joined by a second voice that was yelling and begging for mercy in what sounded like two languages. He attempted to scramble out of bed, but his left leg got tangled in the sheets and he ended up crashing into the closet door, nearly taking it off of its hinges, and bruising his shoulder. "Shit…!" The screaming must have woken up the entire floor by now. "Ms. Inoue!" he yelled as he managed to get free and left the room, running down the hallway and flicking on the lights before coming to a skidding halt when he finally saw what was going on.

Orihime stood over a body, clutching in both hands the thin, metal floor-to-ceiling lamp that Ulquiorra kept by the television, poised to strike. "Take this, Paco!" she cried hysterically. There were feathers everywhere, so he figured that she had already beaten the stuffing out of her pillow and was now moving on to something more punishing.

"Oh God, don't kill me!" On the floor, Grimmjow Jaegerjaques had both arms up, shielding his body from further harm.

Orihime hesitated, staring down at him in confusion. Blue hair cut in a douchebag-ish style. Wasn't this Nel's cheating, scumbag boyfriend? She looked over her shoulder. Ulquiorra had his back to them now, a hand clasped over his mouth as his shoulders shook. He was _laughing_? This was _funny _to him? Well, maybe it was a bit funny. She'd just beaten the tar out of a random stranger thinking that it had been him. But why had he been climbing into bed with her in the first place? She kicked Grimmjow in the ribs for good measure, then threw the lamp to the side. "What the fuck?" she yelled at him.

But Grimmjow was looking at Ulquiorra now, pointing at Orihime with a shaking finger. "What's this bat-shit crazy broad doing in your apartment?" he snapped.

Ulquiorra doubled over, still shaking. Oh, this was going to be a good day. He could already feel it.

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **It seems that our heroes have come to an accord. A superficial one at best, but it'll keep them from killing each other for now! And poor Grimmjow obviously didn't read the **Beware of dragon **sign before coming into the house. What's he doing there anyway? And what is Ulquiorra keeping from Orihime? Well, that won't be revealed for a while, but still.

Next chapter: Orihime learns a little more about Ulquiorra, and then…!


	9. Skimming the Surface

**A/N: **Welcome to Chapter Nine! And my goodness, "Muse" has broken 100 reviews already! Thank you all so very much for your support and love of the story!

Before we get into our favorite couple's antics, I thought I would inform you all about the timeline of this fic. Currently, it is September (2009) within their world. This story ends in December. So while Orihime is looking forward to four months of Paco's torture, y'all are looking forward to four months of… _sexual tension._

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach or any other copyrighted bit of information in this story.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Skimming the Surface**

It was obvious that there was a lot of explaining that needed to be done. But Ulquiorra refused to discuss anything until the pillow feathers were cleaned up off of his floor. In the mean time, he got to answer to the neighbors – and Gin, who had been called from his early morning post at the front desk – all the questions concerning the screaming.

Orihime had watched this with a mixture of amazement and disgust. When the first knock sounded on the door, Ulquiorra's face had twisted into the very picture of silent rage. By the time the door had been opened, a kind, sheepish smile had taken its place. He'd apologized for all the noise, briefly explained the mishap, sweetly reassured his older neighbors that there were no criminals in the building and that they could put their fears to bed, and promised them that it would never happen again. Then the door was closed, and his façade was dropped the moment he turned around. "How troublesome," he muttered, inspecting the floor. "Very good, Ms. Inoue. I wouldn't have expected such cleanliness from you, considering the state of your own apartment."

"Hey. Fuck you," Orihime growled. "Now can somebody tell me why Nel's boyfriend climbed into my bed in the middle of the night, or how he even got in here?"

"_Your _bed?" Grimmjow's eyes widened. He looked between her and Ulquiorra, not liking the fact that they were both angry. For whatever reason, when people were mad, _he _was the one who ended up getting his ass kicked, whether he'd caused the problem or not. "For your information, crazy bitch, this sofa bed is _mine_."

"Says who?"

He reached into his pocket and produced a key. "Says the spare key to this apartment!"

Orihime sputtered indignantly. "Ulquiorra!"

"Calm down, both of you please." He rolled his shoulder, wincing slightly. Perhaps he'd hit the closet door a little harder than he thought. "In all honesty, Ms. Inoue, this is Grimmjow's bed."

"Ha!" the blue-haired man cackled.

Orihime lifted her hand. "Why would you have a…" Then she gasped, pressing that raised hand to her chest. "No way! It couldn't be!" Her jaw dropped. "I mean, I joked about it, but I didn't think it was actually _true_!" She looked at Ulquiorra. "You mean _you're _the one who this guy's been cheating on Nel with?"

"_No_!" they both barked angrily. Grimmjow hit his palm against his forehead, while Ulquiorra rubbed his temples tiredly. "Yo, Batman, who _is _this chick anyway?"

"You will address me by my proper name," he replied, to which Grimmjow muttered something in French. However, he hadn't finished his thought before Ulquiorra crossed the distance between them and grabbed him by the neck with his uninjured hand. "You know, Nel did teach me a few words in her spare time. If you're going to be throwing insults around, at least have the balls not to hide behind your prissy little language."

Orihime sat back on the sofa bed, still waiting for an explanation but not minding the violence. Late night entertainment? Hell yeah, she could get used to this! All that was missing was a bag of popcorn.

"Anyway," Ulquiorra said, releasing his grip on Grimmjow's neck, "allow me to explain." He jabbed his thumb in the taller man's direction, ignoring his coughs and gasps. "As you may or may not know, this is Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, Nelliel's boyfriend of roughly two years. He and I might be friends, but half the time we're not sure." Then without a single warning, he grabbed the unsuspecting Frenchman and threw him against the wall. "By the way, where are my twenty dollars? I believe I've been more than generous in the time I've allowed you to recover them."

"Here!" Grimmjow hurriedly retrieved his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and fished out a twenty dollar bill. Ulquiorra took both the bill and the wallet, pilfering an extra five.

"Interest," he explained, then shoved the wallet into Grimmjow's chest. "Now then, where was I? Ah, yes. This one has a habit of angering his oh-so-loving girlfriend, and as I previously mentioned, their fights sound something akin to the end of the world. This led me, in an effort to prevent my peace from being disturbed by the breaking of glass and clattering of furniture, to let him stay here when the going got tough."

"But we aren't fighting this time," Grimmjow said quickly. "I sent you a fucking text message earlier today which you _obviously _didn't read, giving you clear warning that I was getting off of work late tonight and wanted to stay here to avoid waking Nel." He looked at Orihime. "She has an eight o'clock class tomorrow morning, and I hate making noise in the middle of the night because she's a light sleeper and I feel guilty whenever I wake her up."

"Ugh, that's so cute, it's disgusting." Orihime cringed. She'd noticed that he didn't have the slightest accent attached to his words, which was weird, considering Nel's less than perfect diction.

"So now I've got a few questions myself," Grimmjow straightened out his clothing. "Number one, _why _didn't you read that text message?"

Ulquiorra's gaze turned skyward. "I was in the middle of a very important conversation when it came. Must have slipped my mind," he said with a shrug, as if it couldn't be helped. Orihime then remembered the fact that his phone had indeed gone off during their heart-to-heart that evening, and she'd briefly wondered who in the world would bother to text him.

"_Clearly_." Grimmjow rolled his blue-green eyes. "Question number two: Who is she?" He pointed at Orihime.

"That's Ms. Inoue. She'll be living here for an indefinite amount of time." Ulquiorra waved his hand dismissively. "Can I go back to sleep?"

"What kind of introduction is that?" Orihime snapped, standing from the bed and holding her hand out to the confused Frenchman. "I'd like to say that it's nice to meet you, Mr. Ja… Jae… ger… Grimmjow… but we got off to a rough start, and I've been told that you're a cheating scumbag, so I'm not quite sure what to make of you." Her eyebrow arched.

"Ah, well, the cheating scumbag part would not be an exaggeration," he replied as he shook the offered hand.

Orihime's eyes narrowed. "Then I don't like you." She turned back to Ulquiorra, who seemed to be trying to inch his way towards the hall. "What are you going to do about this?" she demanded, putting her hands on her hips. "We can't _share _the bed."

"Obviously I have every right to it," Grimmjow said, glaring at her. "Not only was I here first, but I've probably known Batman longer than you have, little girl."

"I'm twenty-one!" she cried. "And I'm pretty sure Paco likes me better!"

"Who on Earth is Paco?" Ulquiorra rubbed his temples again, obviously not liking the fact that he might have earned himself a new nickname. "Alright, both of you be quiet. Let me think." He stroked his chin, looking between the two of them thoughtfully. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it. "I suppose I could let Ms. Inoue have my bed… no, I'm not that generous. The sofa bed is uncomfortable and leaves knots in my back." Orihime clenched her jaw and forced a smile to her face. Ulquiorra thought a while longer, then pointed at Grimmjow. "You. Out."

Grimmjow's jaw dropped in disbelief. "W-_What_?" Orihime snickered and turned, climbing back into bed.

"You heard him, Frenchy!" she cackled spitefully. It was then that she remembered that she'd beaten the stuffing out of her pillow, which left her looking to Ulquiorra for another. But he was currently being lifted off of the ground by the front of his shirt, which Grimmjow held tightly with a fist aimed at his face.

"You - !"

Ulquiorra lifted his arms and easily slipped out of the shirt, landing nimbly on his feet. "My house, my rules. I'm absolutely certain that Nel doesn't mind being woken up every once in a while."

Orihime would have paid more attention to what they were saying had she not been staring at Ulquiorra's exposed torso. For a short and skinny guy, he was cut rather impressively. Almost like those Asian martial artists in kung-fu movies; a frame so small that she could almost see his ribcage when he inhaled – _almost_ – but sculpted with muscle that she'd rarely even seen on any of her clients. She had half a mind to poke him, just to see if his skin would stretch beneath her touch or break the bones in her finger. No wonder he'd been able to put a dent in the wall!

Ulquiorra noticed her staring and immediately snatched his shirt out of Grimmjow's hand. "We'll discuss this when it's _not _three in the morning," he said, slipping the fabric over his head and effectively cutting off her view. Damn. "Now get out of here before I call Yammy out of the basement."

Grimmjow glared at him, then turned his head and glared at Orihime. "For the record, I don't like you either," he growled before stalking towards the door. "Oh, and you at least owe me the knowledge of whether or not you're banging this chick, Batman."

"I owe nothing to those who can't pay their debts in time," Ulquiorra countered. There was a brief moment in which Orihime could almost feel the ill will between the two radiating off of them like heat, and then Grimmjow let out a grunt of annoyance and pulled the door open, stomping out into the hallway. When the door had shut behind him, Ulquiorra sighed and turned to retreat to his bedroom. "Do you need another pillow Ms. Inoue?"

"Sure do." Orihime patted the empty space where hers had been.

"Good, then I take it you won't mind picking up two on your way home tomorrow to replace the one you destroyed." Ulquiorra waved at her over his shoulder. "Sweet dreams."

Orihime stammered, unable to speak past her rage. A pervert had snuck into her bed, left her slightly traumatized, and Ulquiorra couldn't even be nice enough to give her another pillow? "You're - !" She heard his door close down the hall. "You're - ! Aaaah!" she cried out in frustration, pulling at her hair. Today was _not _going to be a good day, she decided glumly, reaching for one of the extra blankets and bundling it up to lay her head on. "I hate him, I hate him, _I hate him_…."

…

Twelve hours later, Orihime dragged herself in from a busy work day. She'd volunteered to stay an extra hour while they got the rush of college students and parents under control – the local university's fall semester was about to begin, _and _it was Labor Day – and had nearly twisted her ankle again when one of her favorite heels had suddenly snapped underfoot. Rangiku had done a fairly good job of piecing it back together with crazy glue, but it was suffice to say that Orihime needed a new pair of shoes.

Luckily, today marked another momentous occasion. Nothing – not even Ulquiorra's bad attitude, the fact that she was sweaty and gross and smelled like grease, or the kink in her neck from sleeping without a pillow – could erase the smile from her face as she admired her very first legitimately earned paycheck. Well, it was actually just a small bundle of cash. Rangiku was nice enough to give it to her in advance, since the paperwork would take a little longer to go through. "Don't spend it all in one place!" she'd warned her.

When she arrived at the apartment, Ulquiorra was standing in the kitchen, his injured hand pausing halfway to his mouth. "You're in a good mood," he noted.

"And you're popping pills," Orihime observed, putting her purse down before joining him in the kitchen, her stomach demanding a snack. She reached past Ulquiorra and snatched up the pill bottle sitting on the counter. "Vicodin?"

Ulquiorra nodded as he downed a glass of water. "For this." He barely managed to wiggle the fingers of his right hand. "It's worse than it looks."

"How have you been writing this whole time, then?"

"I'm left-handed."

"Huh. Well, stay off of the piano for a while," Orihime suggested, placing the pills back on the counter. She went and opened the refrigerator, searching through it. Hmm… a peanut butter and jelly sandwich would hold her over until dinner. It had kind of surprised her the first time she'd seen the grape jelly, but now that she knew Ulquiorra was nothing but an overgrown child, it made perfect sense. And what the hell was with the army of tomatoes in there? She felt a pair of eyes on her back and looked over her shoulder suspiciously. He was staring at her, a sour look on his face. "What?" Her brow furrowed. "What'd I do now?"

"Stay off of the piano," Ulquiorra repeated, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms. "Okay. I'm going to ask you to use your imagination now. Do you have one, Ms. Inoue?"

Orihime made a face at him and withdrew the peanut butter and jelly. "Go on."

"Think for a moment. Exercise the miniscule amount of intelligence past that enormous forehead of yours." She whirled on him with a butter knife held threateningly in front of her, but he held up a hand to stop her. "I say that only due to the nature of your suggestion. Now then," he took a deep breath, "for as long as you can remember, there is a person whom has always been by your side; perhaps the child of a friend of your parents'. You two have grown up together. Your entire life, this… for your sake, we'll say it's a boy, unless there's something you aren't telling me… this boy has been right there with you. When things were great, you spent all of your time with that boy. When your life went from misery to utter shit, you cried on his shoulder. This boy is your entire world, and you have been quite certain since the moment you hit puberty that you are madly in love with this boy. But for whatever reason, the two of you get into a silly fight and stop speaking to each other for a month. And then he _moves_. I don't mean across the city, either. I mean his father suddenly got a job in global business and he took the boy all the way to New Zealand. Basically, you're convinced that you're never going to see him again, and you never got the chance to say you were sorry. You long for this boy, your heart aches without him, you're feeling so utterly lonely because _nobody _understood you like he did, so even your other friends can't comfort you. There's this terrible void in your life; this glaringly empty space where he once stood, and it's _everywhere_. Your friends point it out, your parents think it's clever of them to ask, 'Oh, how is such-and-such in New Zealand doing?' when you're dying to forget that he ever existed so you can stop cutting yourself and move on."

"This is a very long-winded story," Orihime muttered as she spread jelly on her bread.

Ulquiorra rolled his eyes. "Fast forward a few years later. You're walking down the street in the midst of a crowd when all of a sudden, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of someone who looks like that boy. You think you've finally gone insane from your loneliness and despair, but as you walk closer you notice that, wait a minute, it _is_ him. It's your best friend, having returned after six years of living down under to proclaim his profound love and unfailing devotion to you. And after those six years of emptiness, unhappiness, and grief, you are reunited with your true love.

"The piano," he said finally, "is _my_ best friend. Why? It's never judged me. It's always been patient with me. It's never betrayed me. In fact, it brought out the best in me, something that everybody could see, and then…" Orihime glanced at him, the knife pausing over the bread. He was staring at the piano, a strange look on his face. "I turned my back on it." His green eyes flickered downwards. "And all it took was that one act of betrayal to send it away for six long, silent years." He looked at her. "Do you understand now, Ms. Inoue? I can't 'stay off of the piano', as you so ignorantly put it."

"But if you don't let your hand heal, you'll never be able to play again." Orihime pointed out, tightening the lid on the jelly jar. She could have said something childish and mean – seemed like what he would do if she suddenly broke out into a metaphor longer than the Bible – but she found herself saying something else entirely. "I get what you're saying, though. I mean, I had someone like that in the past. He was my brother, and while I didn't love him the way you're thinking, I did love him. He's family, you know?"

"Not really," Ulquiorra said, gently reminding her that he had no family to speak of.

"Ah, well. He died right before I turned fifteen, so, about six years ago, now." Orihime rinsed the butter knife in the sink. She suddenly realized that she hadn't thought of him in a while. At least, not as often as she used to. "He was my best friend. You know, I was Orihime, the sky princess, and he was Sora, the sky. We were two peas in a pod." She brought out the knife and wiped it dry on her pant leg. "Only difference here is that I know for a fact that he's never coming back."

Ulquiorra watched her join the two pieces of bread together and pick off the top crust. Then, to his surprise, she turned to him and smiled. "I guess between you and me, you're the lucky one this time."

Oh, that was a strange feeling in his chest. He was almost certain that he'd never felt it before, or if he had, only on very rare instances… like when he was younger, less troubled, too long ago to remember. And it was no weak feeling, either. It made his heart beat unsteadily, almost painfully. He actually had to tear his eyes away from her and that awful, smiling face, for the irrational fear that she would somehow see what she'd done to him.

She'd made him feel sympathy. He'd never felt sympathy for anyone.

"Nelliel came by earlier, looking for you," Ulquiorra said quickly, trying to shake the unsettling emotion. "Don't worry, she isn't mad about Grimmjow. She was asking if you had some free time tomorrow."

Orihime nibbled on the edges of her sandwich. "Yeah, after work. Why?"

"She takes it upon herself to introduce new neighbors to the entire building. I suggest you go along." He went into the living room. "After all, you won't be able to count on me for everything."

She watched him disappear down the hall, feeling a little stale. How awful that arguing with Ulquiorra had become so commonplace that she experienced an odd sense of incompleteness whenever she didn't. Maybe she would scatter the dining table's chairs around the apartment in the most random places she could think of. She eyed the space between the top of the refrigerator and the ceiling mischievously. Oh yes, that would be fun. But first she needed to figure out what had just transpired.

From what she could guess, they had gotten as close to talking about their taboo subjects as their restrictions would allow them to. Like Nel and Szayel had told her, whatever made Ulquiorra stop playing the piano occurred six years ago, when he was going on eighteen. What else did she know was happening in his life back then? He'd been adopted by the Ingram family a few years prior, his music had abruptly taken a turn for the twisted, he immediately changed his last name back to Schiffer once he left home…

Ulquiorra's cell phone went off, the sound of Chopin's Prelude No. 15 filling the apartment. Orihime stared at the sleek black smart phone. She had half a mind to answer it herself. Maybe, if she was lucky, it would be whoever he'd been arguing with a few days prior. But he was quick to emerge from his bedroom and retrieve the phone from the dining table, staring at the screen for a moment before answering. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Daughtry."

Orihime took a bite of her sandwich, disappointed. No dirt.

"Tomorrow? Certainly. I have an opening between two and four." He assumed his role as the nice guy, even smiling and chuckling when appropriate. "Oh, it's no trouble at all. I understand. You're not the first to reschedule; it's common around the end of the summer." Orihime nearly bit her finger, not having realized that she had already finished her sandwich. It was so bizarre seeing him like this. If she didn't know any better, she would have said he was flirting with Mrs. Daughtry. "I'll see you then. Have fun at the beach with your children." He ended the call and dropped the phone back onto the table. "At this rate, I'm going to have the weekend free myself."

"Is that a bad thing?" Orihime asked.

"When I depend on these people to pay my bills, it is. But at least she didn't cancel entirely." Ulquiorra looked at her. "What are you doing this weekend, Ms. Inoue?"

"You're actually asking me?" Her eyebrow lifted.

"I like to be informed."

She rolled her eyes. "Working. There's nothing else to do. Oh, I need a new pair of shoes, so I guess I'm going shopping." The gears in her mind began to turn. "Maybe I'll invite Rangiku and Nel, but only if they promise not to make me try on anything pink." She shuddered.

"Pink. That would be a tragedy." Ulquiorra's eyes swept over her body. "With that hair of yours, all you'd need is a yellow dress and a red purse to look like a walking pack of Starbursts."

Orihime smiled. Now _there _was the Ulquiorra she couldn't stand. "By the way," she said suddenly, remembering last night's confusion, "Paco is your evil side, but I'm coming realize that there are no true sides to you. You're just a bastard who puts on a happy face when it's convenient."

"And here I thought you would never understand me," he replied airily, then paused. "What does Paco look like?"

"Hmm. I haven't been able to choose between a Phantom of the Opera-ish look, or a clone of you with a thick mustache and a sombrero." Orihime checked the time on the microwave. "You know what? I'll go out and get my heels now. Rangiku, Nel and I can go drinking later this week or something."

"Nelliel is only nineteen."

"Oh. Well, that just makes it even more fun!" She went to the closet for a pair of shoes to change into. "A crazy French girl like her must be totally off the wall when she's drunk."

…

There were plenty of stores to venture into in the Hueco Mundo district, but Orihime ended up finding her way to _Tiburón_, Tia Harribel's clothing boutique. After all, she might as well take advantage of that coupon she'd gotten. The tall, silent woman was perched on a ladder near the fitting rooms in the back, replacing a number of items that had been left about the store. Hearing the chime of the door, she turned and saw Orihime entering and immediately climbed down from the ladder, approaching her but saying nothing. "Hey," Orihime offered her a smile, "random question. Do you carry shoes here?"

Tia nodded once and ushered her towards the back. For some reason, Orihime had pictured the store to be full of dark, serious clothing, but the fabrics on display were bright, youthful, and trendy. They were the sort of things she would consider buying to go club-hopping. "I like these clothes," she said, wondering if that would somehow elicit a response from the older woman. But she merely looked back at Orihime with what she could clearly see was a smile, despite the fact that her mouth was covered.

There was a modest selection of shoes, which Orihime wouldn't have minded buying several of, but she had to be frugal with her money now. She'd only made close to two hundred bucks, and she had to pay her bills too. After trying on a variety of strappy heels, she finally picked a silver pair with a heel that was much shorter than the ones she'd broken. Thanking Tia on her way out, she emerged onto the sidewalk and shivered as a chilly wind blew. _Damn, should've brought a jacket_, she thought with a frown.

"Orihime Inoue? Is that you?"

She froze. All of the sudden she felt much, much colder. It was stupid of her. She could have easily ignored the voice and kept walking; there were plenty of fiery redheads in the city. But something deep inside of her forced her to turn around, forced herself to smile as she came face to face with Rukia Kuchiki.

_Shit_.

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Next chapter: Orihime has been acting strange. Very strange. Will Ulquiorra let curiosity get the best of him, or will his pride keep him silent?


	10. Nothing Personal

**Warning: **This chapter is quite long… but not nearly as long as Chapter 22.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach, Tite Kubo does, and he's cool peoples.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Nothing Personal**

One week. Two weeks. Ulquiorra had found himself counting the days. It had been strange from the start; that eerie smile, that bubbly laugh, her airheaded mannerisms and how it would stop as suddenly as it started, like a summer rainstorm, leaving her staring blankly ahead and playing with the anklet resting limp against the top of her foot. And it was irksome, bothersome, the way she paid him no mind. He made his usual quips against her, and she would either giggle and compliment the wittiness of the insult, or not hear it at all.

Had he not been Ulquiorra Schiffer, he would have confronted her. He would have demanded to know what had happened the night she returned with her new pair of heels, the night she'd smiled and apologized for taking so long before promptly going to bed. He would have grabbed her by the shoulders, shaken her until he heard the brain rattling in her head, and said it wasn't _her_. This spaced out, quiet, and hell, even _polite_ young lady was not Orihime Inoue.

He liked to think that he knew her better than that. But with every second, every day that passed in this tense atmosphere, he could only find himself staring in annoyance at the very boundaries that they had established from the get-go. A wall that was five stories high, a mile thick, made of concrete, impenetrable.

And had he not been who he was, had he not been so utterly pissed off by the fact that she had shut down on him so suddenly, without a single word of warning, he would have destroyed that wall with his bare hands. He would have fought it until they bled, until the bones had shattered, until he was left with no choice but to throw himself against it, until he was broken and exhausted.

Unfortunately, he was who he was. His attempts to coax her out of her stupor would have been superficial, completely meaningless.

Because in the end, it wasn't _her _that he was worried about. He realized this as he found himself sitting on the piano bench, staring at the alternating black and white keys, his hands poised above them with nothing but silence echoing in his mind.

"I'm going out," her voice informed him with hollow cheer. "I'll be back late tonight, okay?"

Ulquiorra stared at the keys, his hands falling slack at his sides as the door shut quietly to his left.

In the end, it was all about him. His wants, his needs. That strange girl that still called herself Orihime Inoue… her business was none of his.

At least, that's what he had told himself every day and every night of the past two weeks.

…

Orihime had found that she was pleasantly busy. With the start of the school year, she'd been left without Momo's supervision at work, which meant that she really had to step up her performance. Having moved on from greeter to waitress, she catered to several tables at once without skipping a beat; she flawlessly matched every face to every dish, charmed the customers with her good humor, and by the end of the night, brought home a killing in tips. Even Rangiku was impressed.

Of course, she had Nel to thank for this. The French girl had literally introduced her to everyone in the building, and with all the names she'd learned her memory had naturally been exercised. There was Luppi Antenor on the sixth floor, down the hall from Nel and Grimmjow, who ran a dance studio out of his apartment even though it was against the rules to do so – the manager of Las Noches was never around to scold him, anyway. Luppi was short, which surprised Orihime when she learned that he was two years older than her and a licensed personal trainer. He'd invited her and Nel along to zumba with the rest of the girls, but they had politely declined.

Then there was the infamous Mr. Nnoitra Jiruga, who lived on the fifth floor in the apartment directly above Nel and Grimmjow's. Orihime instantly recognized him as the man who had attempted to hit on her the morning she had escaped Las Noches, and he remembered her as the cheeky girl who had fought his charms by "pretending" to be a prostitute – though he would gladly take her up on the offer now that he had money. She flatly declared that she had retired. Besides, she'd noticed that the man had a peculiar fascination with her French companion. Ulquiorra later informed her that Mr. Jiruga desired Nel above any other woman and, as a result, hated Grimmjow with a passion. This was not made any easier by the fact that, due to his apartment's location, he could clearly hear them having sex right below him.

On the seventh floor resided Zommari Leroux, a man who was regularly performing bizarre spiritual rituals in his apartment. He was religiously ambiguous, apparently, taking little snippets from whichever caught his fancy to craft his lifestyle. Nel said she often joined him for meditation during exam time, as it helped her to relax and remember everything she had studied. Orihime kindly told them that religion wasn't her thing, but Mr. Leroux had taken her hand into his large paws before she could slip away. "You, my child, have a marvelously pure aura and an untainted heart," he had told her with such an honest expression that it had taken all the restraint she had not to burst out laughing. It was alright; he knew nothing about her past, so it couldn't be helped.

Starrk and Lilynette lived on the first floor, and their apartment had momentarily been transformed into a Girl Scout command center, with a very frazzled den mother and about a dozen girls in varying stages of puberty organizing a maze of cookie boxes in the dining area. Nel and Orihime had been there a whole two minutes before promising to come back later.

Next, Nel had introduced Orihime to Baraggan Luisenbarn, her elderly family friend from Germany. The old man was very kind and hospitable, offering them several drinks and snacks before settling down and telling them stories of his childhood. He had very strong opinions on the war, which Orihime actually found rather humorous, and a little concerning when he began saying things in German that Nel either didn't understand or didn't want to translate. Then he had gotten overexcited and she'd had to run and fetch Szayel from his apartment on the eighth floor to attend to the old geezer.

In the basement of Las Noches lived a behemoth named Yammy Riyalgo, who was the building's maintenance man. A jack of all trades, he could fix anything that was broken, no matter how big or small, despite his awkward size. He was allowed to live in the basement free of charge in exchange for his services, and he liked it there, telling Orihime that it was the only place that could contain him anyway.

Now, if Orihime had been in her right mind, she would have immediately stopped Nel before they had disembarked on their adventure. She wasn't planning on staying in Las Noches forever; why should she know the neighbors? It would just give them an excuse to pry into her private life, which was the very last thing she wanted. Hadn't invisibility been her original goal? She couldn't even remember anymore. Or perhaps her soul had just known to give up the moment she'd met Nel in the elevator.

However, the fact of the matter was that Orihime was not in her right mind. She knew this, but she couldn't outwardly acknowledge it. She'd been acting on autopilot since that night… that moment where things had gone from bad to worse in a heartbeat, and like an idiot, she had been the one to throw herself off of the cliff.

"_Orihime Inoue? Is that you?" Rukia Kuchiki stood a few feet away, probably having just emerged from the café next to Tiburón. Her black hair was as short as always – she'd never liked to keep it long – and tucked neatly beneath a cap for the cold weather. She looked the picture of health, youth, innocence, and surprise. "Oh my God, it is!" And she'd broken out into the brightest fucking smile Orihime had ever seen._

"_Rukia, wow!" she'd found herself saying, coming closer to her old friend but making no move to embrace her, or anything of the sort. "It's been so long! What are you doing here?"_

"_I'm at the local university!" Rukia said, reaching forward and taking both of Orihime's hands in hers. She'd always been on the short side, but today she was wearing high-heeled boots, so they were practically eye level. "We all are! Well, except for Ishida. He went to New York to study, and Ichigo pretends he doesn't miss him, but we can just tell…" She trailed off then, her eyes wide and curious. "How have you been, Orihime?"_

_How had she been? What kind of answer was she expecting? Orihime looked down at her hands, still clasped within Rukia's, and found herself at a loss for words. What was going on? Had this idiot forgotten what had happened the last time they'd seen each other, what she'd said to her? _"You're acting like a whore." _Fourteen years old or not, that wasn't something that Orihime exactly felt like forgiving. She wanted to take her hands back and slap her. How _dare _she treat her so kindly? _

_But she couldn't. This was new Orihime, better Orihime, and she didn't do that to her friends. "I've been… fantastic, actually," she had answered. "Never better." And for some reason, she had proceeded to tell Rukia all about her waitress job and her apartment in Las Noches, and she'd even lied a bit and claimed that she was taking online courses._

"_That's so great," Rukia had told her, looking like the proud mother of a reformed criminal. "I'm really happy for you, Orihime." Then she had finally let go of her hands and snapped her fingers. "You know what? Uryuu is flying down from New York in two weeks and we were all going to go out for dinner. Why don't you join us? I'm sure Ichigo and Chad and Tatsuki will be so happy to see you again!" she'd said, her eyes full of hope and pure, innocent joy._

No_, Orihime had begged herself. _Just say no. _Didn't she remember those anti-drug campaigns from elementary school? "Sure! That sounds wonderful!"_

Had she ever been able to say no to Rukia? Not then, not now. How unfortunate. Because while she hadn't thought much of it as she had been agreeing, the walk back to Las Noches had provided her with plenty an opportunity. She was going to have dinner with her old friends from high school. Ichigo, Rukia, Chad, Tatsuki, Uryuu… the five she had depended on to take care of her, alongside Sora of course. The five who had betrayed her. They could deny it all they wanted, pretend it had never happened, but she'd _heard _them. They'd sat her down for some big intervention, as if they could rewrite her past simply by telling her that they were concerned about her, and then they had joked behind her back about which guys they thought she had already gotten acquainted with.

No. She didn't much feel like forgiving them at all, but she had to. She was going to go to dinner, she was going to be the bigger person. But how in the hell did she go about doing that?

And all of these thoughts had chewed her up and spit her out. By the time she'd gotten back to the apartment, her mind was begging for a reprieve, and so she had gone to bed without another word to Ulquiorra.

Oh, Ulquiorra. What would he think about this? Would he even care? Of course not. He didn't know the first thing about her old friends, and he didn't have to know. It was part of the taboo, hidden safely behind their boundaries. Sure, it would have been nice to ask for his advice – he'd either tell her that her efforts were noble, or that these old friends of hers didn't deserve her forgiveness and she was stupid for trying – but that would lead to more questions, more prying; and she wasn't going to answer anything else.

And so, with her mind and heart weighed down by the stress of having to face her past, she had become more distracted, more distant. It was kind of funny; she'd expected Ulquiorra to call her out on it, but he never had. He'd just given her this I-know-something's-wrong-but-I-really-don't-give-a-shit-so-I'm-going-to-pretend-not-to-notice-until-you-crack-and-tell-me sort of look, then he'd gone about his business as usual.

It was kind of anti-climactic, but she probably shouldn't have put so much faith into someone so vain.

Now, two weeks later, Orihime walked through the Hueco Mundo district on her way to the appointed meeting place. Whereas once she had paraded herself down these streets in tube tops and miniskirts, she now dressed in a modest turtleneck and skinny jeans. Her brother's anklet remained secure in its place, and the rest of her jewelry had been set to match. She looked great, successful, _normal_. Not like a prostitute at all.

She was going to be just fine.

…

"So…" It had been half an hour of strict silence, with Ulquiorra seated at one side of the dining table, picking at a decadent salad neatly arranged in a bowl bigger than his head; and Grimmjow at the other, having already eaten half of his. The Frenchman had no problems admitting that it had been strange of Ulquiorra to suddenly call him over, only to shove a bowl of salad at him and command him to eat it. Grimmjow wasn't the sort to pass up free food – after all, Ulquiorra happened to be a decent chef – but he'd expected a damn conversation. "Where's that nutty broad of yours?"

Ulquiorra speared a tomato. "Out."

"Huh." Grimmjow shoveled a helping of leafy greens into his mouth. "Didn't tell you where she was going?"

"Don't speak with your mouth full."

"Fuck you."

Ulquiorra lifted his gaze, his green eyes narrowed in a dangerous manner. Grimmjow cringed and quickly devoured more lettuce, chewing quietly. "Why do you ask? About my not knowing her whereabouts, I mean."

He thought for a moment, poking the salad with his fork. "Well, what was she wearing when she left?"

Ulquiorra picked at the hardly eaten contents of his bowl. "Oh, I don't know, I wasn't paying much attention. A black turtleneck, skinny jeans, boots, gold hoop earrings and a necklace, perhaps?"

Grimmjow's eyebrow arched. Right, because that _obviously _wasn't paying much attention. "Makeup?"

"Yes."

"Perfume?"

"I believe so."

He nodded several times, letting out a hum of affirmation. "I see, I see." He reached for the bottle of ranch dressing in the center of the table. "She's going on a date."

Ulquiorra, who had grabbed his glass of water for a few sips, choked as the liquid went down his wind pipe. He set the glass down, coughing hard. Grimmjow watched in amusement, knowing that he should probably get up and go pat him on the back, but not really in the mood to do so. "A date?" Ulquiorra rasped out finally, his voice pinched. No, that was impossible. She didn't have a boyfriend. Although, there was her strange behavior to take into consideration.

"Come on, Batman, you're a smart guy. Think about it." Grimmjow leaned over the table with a conspiratorial look. And Ulquiorra did think about it; over the past two weeks she had been cheerful, bubbly, girly, polite, spacey. Wasn't that how women tended to act when they were in love? And she hadn't said a word about it to him. Hmm. All this time he had been thinking she had been upset about something and hiding it from him, but she was actually going on a –

Wait a minute. Ulquiorra had almost forgotten who he was dealing with. No, the woman did not have a boyfriend. She had _clients_.

He stood rather abruptly, upsetting his chair and banging his knee against the table. "Oww."

"Believe me now?" Grimmjow asked, lifting the last bite of salad to his mouth. But before he could consume it, Ulquiorra grabbed him by the shirt collar and hoisted him out of his chair. "W-What are you doing?" he cried.

"We're going for a drive." Ulquiorra reached into his pocket and withdrew his cell phone, typing out a number on its touch screen and pressing it against his ear as he began dragging Grimmjow out of the apartment. "Hello, Gin. You saw Ms. Inoue leave a while ago, right? Did she tell you where she was going, by any chance?"

"_Let me think. Oh, yeah, I believe she mentioned the café by Tiburón." _

"Great, thank you." Ulquiorra hung up. He was out in the hallway by now, with Grimmjow struggling to stay upright as he was forced to move. "If you're wrong about this, you're going to pay," he told his unlucky captive.

Grimmjow sighed, used to the threats by now. "Of course."

…

They all looked so normal. Ichigo with his bright orange hair, sticking up in every direction, a bit taller and much broader in the chest with sport-toned muscles; Chad, as large as always, with half his face hiding behind a mop of dark brown hair; Ishida with his glasses and somewhat lengthy black hair, an air of superiority about him; Rukia with her trendy outfits and tiny stature, seated next to Orihime; and Tatsuki with her athletic build, occasionally glancing at their long lost friend as if she couldn't quite believe that she was really there.

Oh, but Orihime _was_ there. She felt their presence like space heaters on the highest setting, all directed at her. The palms of her hands were moist to the point that she regularly had to wipe them on her pant legs. There must have been a strange look on her face, as if she was slightly queasy but pretending not to be.

Luckily, they were as dense as always and didn't seem to notice. "Tatsuki here is playing on the soccer team, which she claims isn't quite as important as football, but come on. It's a sport; you're giving the school a good reputation." Ichigo was talking, confidence and outspokenness radiating from his entire being. He hadn't always been like that, Orihime remembered. He used to be so unsure of himself; playing football must have helped him get over that. And he and Ishida didn't bicker as much as they used to. For some reason, she was reminded of Ulquiorra and Grimmjow, who she had witnessed interact sparingly over the last two weeks; that tense sort of, "oh, we're friends but we won't admit it" sort of thing.

"I bet you're really good, Tatsuki," she said, drinking in the flush on the tall girl's face. So she was the one who had won Ichigo in the end. Rukia had informed her that she was happily engaged to an old childhood friend of hers who had come to their school to be closer to her. How sweet. Orihime had replied that she was happy for her, staring at the diamond stud on Rukia's ring finger.

University, sports, marriage. This was how normal people lived.

"What about you, Orihime? Why didn't you go to a university?" Ishida asked politely. She noticed that he didn't look at her quite the same as before; in high school, she'd thought Ishida had been harboring some sort of crush on her. He must have suppressed that years ago.

All eyes turned on her. She wiped her palms on her pant legs again. "Well, I couldn't really decide what I wanted to major in. And money's been tight, you know, since Sora died. I wanted to get the basics out of the way."

They all nodded in agreement, looking to her like a group of collectible bobble-heads, each fulfilling a different stereotype: the jock, the reformed bully, the intellect, the tomboy, the cheerleader. And then there was her, the whore, completely out of place. She wanted to yell at them. _Don't nod if you don't get it._

"Rukia says you're working a waitress job part-time," Tatsuki said, taking a sip of her latte. "Where at?"

"Oh, here in the Hueco Mundo district, at the Haineko diner. The food there's really good – and I'm not just saying that because I work there." Orihime let out a strange-sounding laugh.

She was going to be sick. Her stomach churned uncomfortably, and she didn't even have any alcohol in her. But if she puked now, they would be worried about her – or that was how it would appear. She could say all that she wanted, but she knew that it wasn't sinking in. They took her words, inspected them for a proper response, and cast them aside. There was no understanding. Never had been, never would be. They were happy people. Her problems would bring a frown to their faces, but it couldn't prompt them into action. In the end, they would just go back to their dorm rooms or apartments, forget everything, and move on.

They didn't see her anymore. They had become part of that constantly moving crowd, of that tumultuous ocean that constantly dragged her under… an ocean that she only knew one way of escaping.

Orihime had been polite for two whole hours, listening to them talk about things she would never experience: high school, proms, graduations, college, love. How she'd managed it, she wasn't sure. But now she opened her mouth and put on an apologetic smile. She'd had enough. "Sorry guys, I have to go. Early day tomorrow," she said, thankful that she'd been sitting on the outer edge of the table so she could slip out of the booth undisturbed.

"Oh, are you sure?" Rukia looked disappointed, but she would get over it, Orihime knew. By tomorrow, she would have solidified her status as a memory; one that wasn't worth thinking about. "It was so much fun seeing you again."

For who?

Orihime looked into each of their faces, seeing that they were ready to cast aside their disappointment the moment she turned her back, and knew that she would do the same. There was no connection, no point. "Well, you know where to find me." She pivoted on her heel and charged towards the exit, desperate to feel the cold against her clammy skin, to get some fresh air…

…to get drunk out of her mind.

She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, pushing the door open as she looked up Ulquiorra's number and pressed the green call button. _Pick up, _she thought, eyeing the corner store with longing. Maybe a cigarette would help, too. He'd be so mad, but damn it all, she needed this.

Unknown to her, Ulquiorra and Grimmjow had arrived at the café about an hour earlier. Getting to a table close enough to overhear the conversation between Orihime and the five strangers she was sitting with had been a comical affair; while Grimmjow had literally hidden behind people and, at one point, dropped to the floor and rolled into a booth, Ulquiorra had walked casually to the table and sat down _facing _Orihime. She must have been super distracted not to have seen him. He then asked Grimmjow if he was done making an ass of himself, to which the Frenchman replied with his middle finger, and politely flagged down a passing waitress for a newspaper, which he'd held up to shield most of himself from view while watching Orihime closely.

The girl did not look good. How did those other five not notice? Did they not care that their companion was a minute away from vomiting on the petite girl to her left? Grimmjow, who had brought along a fedora to hide his brilliantly blue hair, acted as the informant. "Hmm. They're talking about high school… one of them is on the university football team… she has a dead brother?"

"Keep your voice down," Ulquiorra snapped when he noticed that the tallest of the three men had inclined his head in their direction. How could he see past all that hair?

They had caught enough of the conversation to piece together the facts: these five were Orihime's friends from high school, who she had never once mentioned and didn't look all that happy to see. This was confirmed when she suddenly excused herself a little while later and, as soon as she was out the door, Ulquiorra's phone began to ring, Joe Hisaishi's _Madness _dramatically blasting over the peaceful lounge music. Grimmjow's eyebrow arched quizzically, which Ulquiorra ignored as he answered. "Ah, Ms. Inoue. Are you enjoying your evening?"

"_I'm going to get really, really drunk_." He looked towards the door. She was still there, huddled by the café entrance. "_Or maybe I'll walk over to that corner store and buy some cigarettes and just… chain-smoke all of them until I puke. And I know you're probably going to be pissed at me, but trust me, we'll both feel a lot better if I just get it out of my system._"

Ulquiorra sighed into the phone. "Ms. Inoue, if you break my conditions, I'm going to have to kick you out." There was a brief silence, in which he saw a flash of her fiery red hair as she tore away from the building.

"…_I'll be there in the morning to get my things._" The call disconnected. Ulquiorra slammed the phone against the table.

"Son of a bitch," he growled, sliding out of the booth and bolting for the exit. Grimmjow scrambled to follow.

"What's going on?"

Ulquiorra either didn't hear him or ignored him altogether. _It's none of my business_, he told himself as he emerged onto the sidewalk and looked in the direction she had gone but saw no trace of her. _It's nothing personal_, he thought, running towards the end of the street, coming to a skidding halt as he came face to face with a crowd of people trying to get into a nightclub. "Shit!" He turned on Grimmjow, who recoiled at the sight of him. Was that distress on Ulquiorra's never-changing face? "Go that way. Look into any bar, club, or liquor store you pass. If you find her, drag her ass out of there and call me immediately." And then he was gone, pushing his way through the nightclub crowd.

Grimmjow knew better than to disobey. He took off in the appointed direction, his eyes glued to the passing storefronts. Stupid Ulquiorra; he didn't even like this bed-stealing broad, and now he had to hunt her down? What a freaking day.

Ulquiorra came to the end of the block and stopped. There was no way she could have gone this far. What if she'd hopped on a bus, gone clear across town? How would he know where to find her? He froze, his green eyes locking onto a neon sign dead ahead. _Haineko Diner_. He took up his phone again and called Grimmjow. "I think I know where she is, but I'm going to need your help to bring her back."

_It's nothing personal, _he repeated in his mind as he started towards the diner. _It's nothing personal, it's nothing personal, it's nothing personal_… He saw her mane of hair before he'd even crossed the street, saw her turn to the man sitting next to her and ask him something, then barely manage a smile as he handed her an unlit cigarette. Grimmjow came panting up then, but Ulquiorra didn't wait for him to catch his breath before dodging oncoming traffic and pushing the diner door open, ignoring the sweet-faced teenage girl who greeted him with a confused smile. _It's nothing personal._ He walked right past the girl, his eyes fixed on the burning tip of the cigarette that Orihime had just lit, which was slowly making its way to her lips. _Nothing personal…_ And he ignored the busty blonde talking to her at the bar, reached out, and snatched the cigarette right out of her shaking hand.

_I just can't let you leave_.

Orihime swiveled around in her bar stool, her gray eyes wide with shock. Ulquiorra glared at her with such ferocious animosity that she could say nothing, not even protest when he stubbed the new cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. He motioned behind him to Grimmjow. "Get her."

Grimmjow sighed, giving Orihime an apologetic look before he seized her wrist and pulled her off of the barstool, then hoisted her up and slung her over his shoulder like a caveman. The busty blonde looked about ready to jump over the bar. "Hey!" she cried, "You have until the count of three to put her down! Who do you two think you are, coming in here and kidnapping my employee?"

Ulquiorra spared her a bored glance. "I'm her roommate," he said simply, following Grimmjow out of the diner with a multitude of people staring after them, leaving the blonde speechless.

Orihime seemed to have remembered herself, as she was now putting up quite the struggle. She kicked her legs, beating at Grimmjow's back with her fists. "Argh! Let me go, damn it! Let me fucking go!" she screamed, throwing her weight back and forth.

"Sorry, I'm more terrified of _him _than I am of you," the Frenchman replied. But suddenly, he stopped walking. Ulquiorra took two steps past him before he stopped as well, and in the ensuing silence, Orihime arched her back and craned her neck to look over Grimmjow's shoulder. The blood drained from her face. Ichigo, Tatsuki, Rukia, Uryuu and Chad stood staring back at them.

This definitely took the crown for being the most awkward moment of her life.

Tatsuki was the first to speak. "Hey! What are you two thugs doing to Orihime?"

Grimmjow, glad that Orihime had stopped flopping around, waited for Ulquiorra to put on his charm and come up with some elaborate lie to make himself look good. But to his and Orihime's surprise, he maintained his cold demeanor. "What's it to you?"

Uh-oh. Orihime tried to lift herself a bit more so she could smile reassuringly at the others. "Guys, it's nothing…"

But it was too late. Ulquiorra watched as the carrot-top separated himself from the group, scowling, prepared for a fight. "We're her friends."

Usually, when things like this happened, one would have expected time to stop. But it didn't. Orihime looked between Ichigo and Ulquiorra, and even though they didn't move, everyone around them did. Couples still walked down the sidewalk arm-in-arm, enjoying the crisp night. Pretty girls bribed bouncers to get into clubs. The crazies muttered to themselves as they passed by with dark expressions. Seconds were ticked away, the day growing ever closer to ending. And then Ulquiorra broke the silence.

"Her friends?" His voice was low. "Don't make me laugh." He glared at his taller opponent without the slightest degree of intimidation. "You can spout as many ridiculous claims as you'd like, but the fact of the matter is that she sat in your presence looking sicker than a dog for, I would guess, roughly two hours and _none _of you noticed. What kind of friend is that? I've known Ms. Inoue for three weeks, disagree with her on almost everything, but I could see her discomfort plain as day. So you're either extremely stupid – that includes you four in the back – or you chose to ignore it. In whichever case, this does not make you her friend, it makes you _trash_."

Orihime stared at Ulquiorra's rigid back, her heart racing. She could see Ichigo flinching, backing down, averting his gaze. "Grimmjow, it's okay… I can walk now," she whispered.

Grimmjow hesitated a moment before carefully setting her onto the sidewalk, lest he invoke Ulquiorra's wrath, but thankfully it was currently directed at the group in front of them. Orihime approached him and, for the first time since she had come to know him, lifted her hand and gently laid it on his arm. He looked down at her. "Can we go home now?" she asked softly.

Ulquiorra nodded wordlessly, but he didn't move. Instead, he motioned for her to go on ahead of him. Orihime took in a deep breath, her gaze sweeping over the shocked faces of the five that she had used to call her friends; the five who had betrayed her. She straightened her posture and, with her head held high, she walked past them without an excuse or apology. How stupid, she thought. She'd almost let this get the best of her. She'd almost forgotten who she was, or who she was trying to be. And more importantly, she'd almost let herself lose the best thing that had happened to her in years.

He may have been a dramatic pianist with a foul temper and a raging superiority complex, but Ulquiorra was her friend. He could easily have let her go, let her drink and smoke herself into oblivion and then shoved her out the door the next morning. And yet, he hadn't. He'd come to her faster than she could ever have imagined, prevented her from going back on their agreement.

She smiled as she left the ghosts of her past behind her, frozen and struck positively dumb, with her two knights in casual clothing trailing close by. She slowed enough so that they caught up to her and she walked between them, trying not to let on how pleased she was; after all, if what Ulquiorra had said to Ichigo was true, they'd been spying on her the entire evening. Grimmjow was already demanding to know what the fuck was going on, and she supposed it would be fair to tell him, but only after she had sufficiently scolded them.

Ulquiorra remained silent, his hands in his pockets, refusing to look at anything but the walk ahead. He knew he was in trouble. Still, there was a sense of satisfaction about him that didn't stem from the fact that he'd gotten to be perfectly nasty in public; or from the fact that he'd outwitted a group of strangers.

No, had he not been trying so hard to convince himself that it'd been nothing personal, he might have admitted that his satisfaction stemmed from the fact that Orihime would be there in his apartment when he woke up the next morning. Not the weak, trembling, alcoholic prostitute… but the feisty waitress with a concrete backbone who wasn't afraid to stand up to him.

Yeah. "Paco" liked her much better.

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **IT'S ORIHIME'S BIRTHDAY! If it wasn't, I wouldn't have worked so damn hard to finish this chapter in time. And oh my goodness, it really did drag on forever. The structure was also weird, as it kind of followed Ulquiorra more than Orihime, but I hope y'all liked it. Are those _changes _we're starting to see within our beloved Emospada? Could be, but then again, it's rather early to tell.

Next chapter: Ulquiorra and Orihime have a bonding moment!


	11. The Silence

**A/N: **I would like to start off by saying thank you for all the wonderful reviews. 150 already! Wow! It really means a lot to me, and I'm glad that I am able to entertain you and bring y'all some happiness, if only for a little while.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach or any other copyrighted name I have mentioned.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**The Silence**

"Ulquiorra,"

The melancholy pianist sat concentrating on the notebook in front of him, his left hand working to put in accent marks, slurs, and a time signature change in the middle of the piece. He paid little-to-no mind to the voice coming from the living room, competing with the volume of the television as it grew in insistence.

"_Ulquiorra!_" Orihime yelled, drawing out the last vowel. Sitting cross-legged on the sofa with a perfectly dysfunctional family suing each other on TV, she didn't really feel like getting up, but at this rate she was never going to get him to respond. She stood, making her way over to the dining table where he'd been since she woke up – apparently he had taken the morning off from work, though he still had clients to see in the afternoon – writing a new piece of music. Drawing in a deep breath, she leaned over him and placed her chin on his shoulder. "Ulquiorra," she sighed dramatically, "I'm hungry."

"Yeah? Eat something." Ulquiorra connected a series of notes, then drew a rough line to end the measure.

Orihime stuck out her bottom lip. "Eat what? I can't even scramble eggs. You know what I want? I want pancakes. Won't you make me some?" No answer. "_Please_? Yours are good! What do you put in them, cinnamon? That's amazing. I've never tasted pancakes with cinnamon in them."

Ulquiorra cast her an annoyed look. "You're being obnoxious."

She narrowed her eyes challengingly. "Oh, I can get a lot worse." And with that, she threw her arms around his neck and began letting herself fall onto him, the added pressure making it increasingly hard for him to write. "Ulquiorra! I want pancakes!" she cried, sliding farther forward. "Please, I can't take the hunger! I feel so weak! The room is spinning!"

Ulquiorra sighed. She was a cheeky one, alright. After the incident with her high school friends, he had decided to punish her by ignoring her for a good week, but she didn't make it easy. She'd been irritatingly cheerful ever since that night, which shouldn't have been a bad thing, but he was starting to miss the days when she had been quiet and out of the way… okay, not really. "Whoa!" He felt himself slipping from her weight and reached for the edge of the table, but his fingers couldn't find purchase and he ended up toppling onto the floor with Orihime still attached to his back.

"Pancakes!" She kicked her legs. "I'm dying!"

"Fine. I'll make your damn pancakes." He grabbed her wrists and pried her hands apart, breaking free of her grip. "But you'd better supervise. I might poison them while you aren't looking."

Orihime sat up, grinning with satisfaction. "Alright." She picked herself up off of the floor and followed him into the kitchen. It was the beginning of October, and she was still finding it hard to believe that she'd already been there for a month. Ulquiorra must have been getting tired of her; she wasn't exactly blending into the background. "So what are you working on, if you don't mind my asking?"

Ulquiorra opened the refrigerator and began handing her ingredients. "A suite." It certainly hadn't started out that way, but he was beginning to notice reoccurring musical patterns in each piece he had written thus far. He'd probably have to rearrange the order once he'd finished them all, and when performed consecutively they would flow together in such a way that his old audiences would have been left in tears at his genius. He closed the refrigerator and threw open one of the cabinets, withdrawing a crystal bowl. "Consider yourself lucky; there are thousands of people who would die to hear what I've written so far."

"They need lives, too," Orihime commented dryly, watching him mix the ingredients to make sure he didn't throw in something spicy or bitter out of spite. "Though you haven't played the one you're writing now. How do you know if it'll sound good or not?"

"Ms. Inoue, I was labeled a prodigy for many reasons, one being that I have perfect pitch." He said as he carefully eyed the amount of milk he was pouring into the mixture. "You could play any note on that piano and I could tell you exactly which note it is, without looking. The same goes with chords. Play a song on the radio and I can tell you what key signature it's in, and bearing that in mind, every sharp, flat, and natural they throw in to spice it up."

Orihime blinked. "That's cool. I can touch the tip of my nose with my tongue," she said, to which he sighed and shook his head.

"So uncultured. Why do I put up with you?" He knew exactly why, but he would like to see what she could come up with in response to that.

"Because you enjoy my company," Orihime replied, crossing her arms and mentally daring him to tell her otherwise. She had a few other thoughts, but there was no way she'd say them out loud. It was too early to accuse him of wanting to have sex with her. Besides, so far, there had been no reason to suspect him. He didn't touch her or look at her inappropriately, which once again aroused her suspicions of his homosexuality. Just because he wasn't banging Grimmjow didn't mean he didn't want to bang Aizen.

Ulquiorra hummed thoughtfully, but neither confirmed nor denied it. "Don't you have to go to work soon?"

"In an hour," Orihime said, "and I want to hear what you've written when I come back." Unknown to him, in the last week, she had been listening to his piano CDs while he was out of the apartment. Why the secrecy? During the time that he'd been ignoring her, he had only broken his silence once, and that was to sharply tell her 'no' when she'd asked if she _could _listen to them. He hadn't responded to her subsequent demands as to why she couldn't, but she figured that it had something to do with the reason he had become an uninspired hermit. So the moment she'd returned from work the previous Monday – he was still gone – she had popped the first of the discs into the DVD player and hit play.

And, okay, she had become hooked. The CD on the top of the stack, simply labeled _1992_, hadn't even sounded like music to her. It was as if someone had taken every good, pure and wonderful aspect of childhood and translated it into piano language. She'd lain on the sofa with her eyes closed, yearning to be a part of whatever scene had inspired such a song. It was so gentle, so innocent, so happy. It had taken a good two hours to convince herself that Ulquiorra had indeed written it, and at seven years old, no less.

The second CD had proven to be even better, if that was possible. All the confusion of adolescence, the changes occurring both physically and mentally; the good times and, occasionally, the bad times. Still, there was this underlying sense of loneliness. He'd been an orphan at the time, and his longing for a family to share all those moments with permeated through each piece. Orihime didn't know how to react to it; she wanted to be happy, but at the same time, it was so fleeting that it made her want to cry.

And then came the opera. It was strange to hear other instruments alongside the piano, but at the same time, it had only enhanced the compositions. At this point she had gone to Nel's apartment to look up the lyrics to the opera online because Ulquiorra kept a password on his computer. "Ooh, I know just where to find them!" the French girl had exclaimed as she unlocked her laptop.

"You know," Grimmjow had thrown in from behind them, as he had been watching their antics since Orihime had arrived, "prying into his business is just going to piss him off."

"Pfft. I'm not scared of him," Orihime had boldly declared, taking over the computer when Nel stood and ran over to her boyfriend. She couldn't resist looking over her shoulder at the two of them, though. Nel had both arms around Grimmjow's waist, saying something obviously endearing in French while he put on an irritated scowl that couldn't quite hide the pink on his cheeks. But it was Nel's expression that stuck out to Orihime the most; the green-haired girl stared up at her boyfriend with such love and devotion that it had given her chest pain. _What will it take_, she thought, _for me to look at someone like that_? Then, of course, she had remembered that she didn't trust men, and that Grimmjow was a shameless, cheating bastard which in turn made Nel an idiot.

Turning back to the computer, Orihime had found the opera lyrics neatly translated. It was… depressing, to say the least. The story focused on a princess whose country had been plagued by a demon for many years. Upon meeting the demon herself, she found that he longed to be human again, and made a promise to seek out the Water of Life, which could restore his humanity. But while she was away, the soldiers of her parents' army – one being a general with hopes to marry the princess – closed in and killed the demon. The princess returned to her country with the Water of Life, only to find that the demon was dead, and in her anguish she gave him the Water.

"But it ends," Nel had told her, "in a, how you say, cliffhanger?" She frowned. "The audience is left to guess whether or not the demon becomes human again."

According to her and Grimmjow, the piece that accompanied the scene where the princess laments the death of the demon had not only brought entire audiences to tears, but had also won an impressive amount of awards. Orihime had then gone back to Ulquiorra's apartment and listened to the song with lyrics, keeping the translations in mind. She'd almost cried.

Needless to say, she now knew why Szayel and Nel had made such a big deal about the fact that Ulquiorra was composing again. And it was that which had made her hesitant to listen to the last two CDs in the stack, but she'd gathered her nerves and done it anyway. The first few pieces had struggled to stay optimistic. The subsequent songs didn't even try. It was as if that entire penultimate CD represented a slippery slope down the road of despair, starting from the failing rays of hope.

The final disc had alarmed her. Each song was so angry, so harsh, as if Ulquiorra had simply gone mad and was making damn sure that everybody knew just how mad he was. They were frantic and fast, all over the place, and Orihime could practically see him pacing back and forth in front of the piano, trying to decide how he would punish it for whatever was happening to him.

There was no promise to return, no glimmer of optimism in the end. The last piece had ended in a descent into darkness, silence, gloom. While he went on spiraling into oblivion, everyone else could rest assured that he was done. This was it. He was never coming back.

_Six years of nothing_, Orihime thought as she sliced her pancakes into neat triangles, occasionally glancing up at Ulquiorra, who sat across from her, rapidly scribbling notes. Even though he had given her a nice, long analogy to describe what he'd been through, it had taken the musical journey to really put it into focus. She understood now, at least, that he definitely wasn't conceited. It wasn't the fame that he'd cared about, not in the slightest.

…

"A Halloween party?" Rangiku had come out of her office to make her usual rounds, asking if the customers were pleased with their orders and those who took them, before joining Orihime for some gossip. "Where at?"

"Las Noches, that big apartment complex three blocks down." Orihime smiled at her kind manager. She'd been told about the costume party by Gin, who she had seen posting up a flier on the community board as she'd been leaving. "It's on the 31st, of course. Want to come? We can go shopping for outrageously slutty costumes… well, maybe not _that _slutty. There will be children present." She wrinkled her nose. "And who knows? If you do the whole naughty nurse thing you might find yourself a handsome, single doctor."

Rangiku laughed out loud. "I'll go to the party, but I'll pass on the doctor. Men are nothing but trouble." She shook her head. "They'll string you along and just when you've started trusting them, they'll stab you in the back."

Orihime snorted. "I'll drink to that."

"Good!" She slung an arm around her shoulder. "Your boyfriend may have stopped you from getting hammered last time, but this weekend, you and I are going clubbing. Think of it as a belated birthday party for the both of us." The older woman winked.

"He's not my boyfriend," Orihime interjected, "just the psycho I happen to live with." To her surprise, she'd discovered that Rangiku's birthday had been at the end of September, and while they'd had a brief celebration during the previous week – all the diner employees had brought her presents – Rangiku had sworn that she would have a real party in the near future. Orihime grinned. "I'll be sure to warn him, though. He says he doesn't mind me drinking as long as I keep it out of the apartment. Just don't let me smoke anything, okay?"

"Girly, I'm going to be so wasted I won't remember a damn word of this conversation. You'd better bring a designated driver." And for a moment, she could have sworn that Rangiku looked _sad_. The strawberry blonde sighed, then smiled again. "Two days from now, on the third. Don't leave me hanging, Hime."

"I won't," Orihime promised, wondering what that had been all about. But she quickly dismissed the thought, realizing with a rush of excitement that she knew the _perfect _designated driver. When she got off of work, she was going to call Chizuru.

…

Ulquiorra noticed his cell phone screen come to life, as he currently had it silenced, but chose to ignore it for the time being. Looking straight ahead, he cringed as another wrong note sounded and the boy at his side let out a frustrated grumble. He held up his hand. "Stop right there." His green eyes focused on the child. How old was he, ten? Eleven, maybe? Ulquiorra sighed, knowing what was coming next, but still hating to ask the inevitable questions. "You didn't practice this week, did you?" The boy shook his head. "You don't want to practice, do you?" Again, the boy shook his head, slower this time.

"It's not that I don't _like _the piano," he said quietly, staring down at his lap in shame as children often did, "I just don't want to play it."

Ulquiorra nodded. "Have you told this to your mother?"

"I keep trying, but she says I'm going to regret not sticking with it."

"Well," he reached forward and brought down the cover of the piano keys, "this is your decision to make, not hers. Perhaps you will regret it someday, but you have plenty of time to change your mind." Ulquiorra patted the boy on the head. "And should you do so, I'll be more than happy to help you continue."

If there was something he could say that he truly hated, it was when a person gave up on music. But that hatred paled in comparison to the one he felt when someone was forced to do something they didn't want to do. After all, he'd been the boy on the bench once upon a time, staring down at the keys and wishing he could stop. He wasn't going to be the criminal in this situation and pressure the kid, especially for the sake of money. It wasn't like he didn't have income still flowing in from other directions. Becoming a piano teacher had merely been his way of staying close to what he loved most.

Besides, the less people he had to deal with, the longer he could stay at home and work on those pieces.

But now that he was composing again, it begged the question: what would he do with those songs when he was finished? Hang them up on the refrigerator like an A on a spelling test? Congratulate himself and throw them into the closet to be forgotten about? Honestly, the thought stressed him out to the point of feeling like he was going to vomit. He'd created something he _knew _was good, something he wanted other people to hear. But how would he get them to listen?

"Mr. Schiffer?" The boy was staring at him. "You look sick."

"Just a stomachache," he said quickly, then put on his rehearsed smile. "Let's go out and wait for your mother."

It was the perfect hiding place, really. Who would have thought that Ulquiorra Schiffer, a world famous pianist, would be teaching lessons at a small music store in the Hueco Mundo district? Hell, who would have even guessed that he was in this corner of the country? Surely the people who wanted to get in touch with him had searched Seattle, where he'd lived as an orphan; all the major cities he had visited in his touring days. But no dice. Just because he'd been adopted by money didn't mean that he'd go looking for a place where he could spend his days in luxury.

That was _them, _not him. He knew how to live like he had nothing.

After dealing with the boy and his mother while making sure to steer clear of their ensuing argument, Ulquiorra gathered up his things, lost in thought. He hated this time of year. It made him think of the past, and that was the last place he wanted his mind to be. Whenever he recalled those awful times, he had a tendency to get sick; stress had never been kind on his stomach. Such was the reason he was so thin. He distinctly remembered all the throwing up he'd done in his junior year of high school. The Ingrams had worried that he'd been suffering from some awful virus. Oh, and they'd been nice enough to take him to the hospital, too.

Ha. Nice? He scowled.

Anyway, there was plenty to be cheerful about. For example, upon checking his cell phone, he found a message from Orihime stating that she was going out drinking on Saturday night. He could come up with all sorts of ways to piss her off about it until she changed her mind, though the next message she sent him said she was going with a friend and promised not to go crazy. Maybe he'd cut her a little bit of slack, then… but not too much. He needed to keep her on her toes.

Unfortunately, he couldn't tear his thoughts free of the past, which created stress. And so, when Orihime came home from the diner, she nearly collided with the dining table, which for whatever reason was placed in front of the door. Weird. She walked around it and went to the kitchen, dying for something to drink.

The plates were in the glass cupboard.

She closed it, then opened it again. Nothing had changed. She looked into the next one. There was the coffeemaker. The toaster had moved, too, having crossed from the space next to the refrigerator to the corner by the kitchen knives. Orihime bent over and pulled open the two cabinets under the sink. The wastebasket had shuffled from one to the other. The coffee mugs had also moved to the corner closest to the kitchen entrance, though that put them on the complete opposite side of the kitchen and quite far from the coffeemaker, which made no sense whatsoever. They were also _different _mugs: Berlin, Rome, Ontario, Vancouver, Tokyo, Washington D.C., and then the Batman mug, which was the only one that had remained unchanged.

A clatter came from down the hall. Orihime frowned and left the kitchen, her thirst momentarily forgotten. The piano was now facing the empty space where the dining table had been, rather than the wall that separated the dining room from the kitchen. "Ulquiorra?" She called out, then pursed her lips together. What if the place was being ransacked? Nothing had been stolen _yet_, but she might have caught the perpetrator in the act. Adrenaline coursing through her veins, she grabbed the nearest weapon – an umbrella, which had mysteriously moved into the living room – and crept towards the hallway. She was about to call him again when Ulquiorra's head poked out from his bedroom at the end of the corridor.

"Ah, Ms. Inoue, you're back."

"What the hell is going on?" Damn. It would have been fun to beat the crap out of someone. Orihime noticed that he seemed out of breath, a trickle of sweat making its way down his neck.

"Give me just a moment," he disappeared into the room and, shortly after, she heard a grunt of effort followed by a loud _bang_. Then he emerged again, wiping his hands on his shirt. "Sorry. I'm rearranging the furniture."

"Yeah, I noticed. Why?"

Ulquiorra frowned. "Does it bother you? I left the living room alone."

Orihime glared up at him. "That's not the point. You said that you only do this when you're stressed." She poked him in the chest with the umbrella. "Mind filling me in?"

"I do, as a matter of fact. It's none of your concern." Ulquiorra snatched the umbrella away from her. "I would tell you if it were something to worry about." He turned and walked back into his room, but Orihime stayed on his heels. She saw that the bed had been moved from the far wall to the space next to the closet, and the filing cabinet had found its way out into the open, but the bookcase was missing now. What the hell?

"Ulquiorra," she addressed him as he knelt in front of the filing cabinet and pulled it open, then carefully withdrew its contents and laid them out on the floor. "You may think it isn't something to worry about, but you're freaking me out."

He searched his mind for a situation that would normally be a cause for stress. That should appease her, right? "I lost a client today," he said finally, closing the first drawer and opening the one below it. "The poor boy didn't want to play the piano. His mother was forcing him to. Isn't that awful? Why would parents force their expectations onto their children like that? Don't they know how that makes them feel?"

"Enlighten me," Orihime walked into the room and sat down next to him, "'cause my parents never expected anything from me." He handed her a bunch of folders, which she accepted wordlessly and placed onto the carpeted floor.

"Well, putting it bluntly," Ulquiorra said as he continued to pull things from the drawer, "it makes them feel like shit." He grabbed a huge stack of folders and dropped them into her lap. "Psycho- and sociologically speaking, children don't want to let their parents down. Why should they? Their parents have sacrificed their whole lives, possibly their hopes and dreams to raise them, and as such, the kids do not want to be disappointments. The same goes for lovers, friends… it's human nature, this eagerness to please the people we care about. They demonstrate their love for us, and we do it back.

"But no matter how old we are, the mental strain that such a thing places on us is enormous. It makes us sick, makes us angry and hurt and _hateful_. How can we do that to the people we love? Oh, but we don't realize that we're doing it, now do we?"

Orihime stared at him as the folders continued to pile up on her lap, weighing her down.

Ulquiorra sighed. "It's unfortunate, don't you think? We act with our best intentions, but in the end, we could be hurting somebody we care about… permanently scarring their hearts and warping their view of the world. Then eventually, they come to resent us."

Orihime wasn't sure why, but she suddenly thought of his last two CDs. The fading hope, the despair, the madness, the chilling silence in all its finality. "Is that why you stopped playing?" she whispered before she could stop herself.

There was a thick pause, in which the question hung about the air between them, then Ulquiorra laughed bitterly. "You just won't give up on that, will you?" He shook his head. "To say that such a thing was what made me stop would only be naming part of the problem. I left the piano behind in order to set myself free." He sat back and ran a hand through his hair, staring blankly at the folders surrounding him. "And it was heartbreaking, really, to find that I had come to hate the only thing that had ever made me happy. Hence, the aimlessness, the loss of a concrete identity… If I wasn't Ulquiorra Ingram, the brilliant pianist, then who was I? Six years later, I'm back at square one, clinging to music and absolutely no different than when I separated from it."

Orihime tried to think of something to say. "Well, look on the bright side. At least you were able to start up again. Most people who go through something like that will never want to go back to what they left behind."

"And that makes them stronger than me."

"No, that makes _you _stronger than _them_." She slid the folders off of her lap. "Because you realized that music wasn't the problem."

"Ms. Inoue…"

"It made you happy, right? Sure you must have started to hate it after a while, but that wasn't your fault, was it?"

Ulquiorra turned and put his hands on her shoulders. "Ms. Inoue, please. That's enough," he said quietly, and she noticed for the first time that he didn't look well at all. His face was paler than usual, his green eyes dull. "I know this already." But knowing it didn't change the fact that no matter what happened in the future, even if he did manage to compose a million pieces that would knock the classical music world off of its feet, he could never step back into that spotlight. "Thank you, though."

"Ulquiorra…"

And he couldn't let her get any closer, because if she was this perceptive, she would no doubt be able to strip him of those excuses that he clung to for dear life. He removed his hands from her shoulders and narrowed his eyes. "Don't you have something better to do?"

Orihime frowned. There were those defenses springing back up. "No," she said simply, then grabbed one of the folders off of the floor and flipped it open. "How do you want to organize these?"

Ulquiorra had half a mind to take it away from her, but what would that do? Knowing her, she would find every excuse not to leave, no matter how absurd, and he was far too tired to deal with that. "By composer," he muttered, then proceeded to empty out each of the folders. Orihime worked alongside him silently, sensing that if she tried to pry anything else out of him, the wall-punching incident might be repeated, and she knew now that he needed those hands more than she could have ever imagined.

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Next Chapter: Orihime learns that there's _much _more to her new friends than she thought.


	12. Don't Tell Me 'Cause It Hurts

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bleach!

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Don't Tell Me 'Cause It Hurts**

When Nel went on her rounds about the building on Saturday afternoon, Orihime decided to join her for lack of anything better to do. Ulquiorra may have lost a client, but he still had plenty of work to cover on weekends, and things got rather lonely in the apartment without him to pester – or vice versa. "So you have taken liking to him, then?" Nel asked before promptly sticking a handful of Girl Scout cookies into her mouth.

"Like is a _strong _word…"

"You certainly don't complain as much as you used to," Szayel noted.

Orihime glared at the pink-haired doctor. "Why are you here again?" The trio sat on the roof, which featured a swimming pool that overlooked the city and was generally open during the spring and summer months. With the onset of the chilly October weather, however, nobody would dare go for a swim until at least March.

"Same reason as you, sweetie," he answered, stealing one of Nel's cookies. Her protest came out in the form of a vague mumble, as her cheeks currently resembled those of a hamster storing pellets in its mouth. "It's a slow day."

Orihime was more excited for that night than anything else. She wasn't going to drink herself into a coma, but that didn't mean she couldn't have any fun. Besides, she had convinced Nel to come, and she was dying to see what kind of reaction the teenager had to alcohol. Chizuru had also agreed to be their designated driver, the promise of spending the night with three gorgeous, big-breasted women more than enough to make her leap onto the bandwagon. "Hey, so, what's up with Lilynette's clothes?" Orihime asked Szayel, having seen the girl dressed in an outfit that _couldn't _be middle school appropriate that afternoon.

"What about them?"

"Aren't they a little risqué for someone her age?"

Nel squinted into the cookie box. "That is because Starrk is big push-over. After their parents separated, he lets Lily do whatever she wants because he doesn't want her to hate him, too." She shook the box, sending a shower of crumbs onto her face.

"That's stupid," Orihime muttered, staring out at the city. "She's going to turn into a bratty little whore, and he'll only have himself to blame." Truthfully, she was very worried about such a thing coming to pass. That sort of life wasn't for a girl as strong and smart as Lilynette.

Szayel grinned. "Sounds like you're the one who needs to give him a pep talk, huh?" He leaned in closer to them. "Speaking of Starrk, I saw him earlier, bouquet of flowers in hand, headed to the third floor." His eyebrows waggled suggestively. "We all know where _he _was going."

"I don't. Where was he going?" Orihime asked, looking between the two most informed residents of Las Noches.

Nel squealed and kicked her legs. "Starrk has big crush on Ms. Harribel. He tries very hard to get her to go on date with him." She twisted her green hair around her index finger. "And it's sad, because Ms. Harribel likes him, but she is very… eh, self-conscious! That is word. She does not think she is very pretty."

Orihime rolled her eyes. "She must not own a mirror." One of the advantages of not being very romantic was that she had a knack for telling when people around her were being stupid. Tia Harribel was self-conscious? The woman could have been a model. "And you know, for a pair of gossip mongers, you guys sure are useless when it comes to the Ulquiorra front." Yes, her true purpose for being out there with them that afternoon had been to see if they'd known anything that could help her solve the mystery of Ulquiorra's past, but it turned out that they knew even less than she did.

"Sorry hon. He's an ex-celebrity and everything, but his Wikipedia page hasn't been updated since God knows when. The personal life section still has him living with the Ingram family." Szayel frowned.

"Holy shit, he has a Wikipedia page?" Orihime's eyes widened.

"Is that so surprising?"

"Never mind." She checked the time on her cell phone. "I should go downstairs and get started on dinner." Her mouth pulled down into a scowl. Yesterday, she had decided to surprise Ulquiorra by having a meal prepared when he came home from work, if only to soften him up. He still wasn't very happy about the drinking thing. This morning she had woken up to find a neatly written list of Alcoholics Anonymous and rehabilitation center phone numbers taped to her forehead. Taking that as a declaration of war, she'd finally gone through with her original plan to relocate the dining table chairs. One was in the shower, one was in the elevator – she had made Gin promise to keep it there. Another one rested upside-down on Ulquiorra's bed, one had been wedged between the refrigerator and ceiling at such an angle that he would have to climb up onto the counter to get it unstuck. The fifth chair was in the middle of the hallway in _pieces_ and the last one… well, she could look over her shoulder and find that one. She'd borrowed Nel's inflatable pool chair and set it adrift, meaning that Ulquiorra would either need to be willing to jump into the cold water or fetch a really long stick to carefully reel it in.

Ah, she only wished that she wasn't going to be gone while he tried to find them.

However, there was a big problem with her cooking idea: Orihime could hardly fix a bowl of cereal – she still found herself occasionally putting the milk in the bowl first. She wasn't even sure what the difference between baking powder and baking soda was. Thus, after relocating the chairs, she had spent the better part of her time researching recipes and looking up cooking terms online. Ulquiorra obviously liked tomatoes, so she decided on homemade pizza, which seemed easy enough.

Of course, asking for his permission to use the kitchen had gotten him suspicious. She'd have to work quickly. Knowing him, he would be desperate to get home before she set his apartment on fire.

Orihime bid farewell to Nel and Szayel, who were now admiring the dining chair floating in the middle of the swimming pool, and made her way to the stairs. As soon as she opened the door, she caught the sight of someone descending one flight below her. She peered over the rail curiously. It was Doctor Aizen, only his appearance had changed… well, for the better, in her opinion. His brown hair was slicked back, and he appeared to be wearing contact lenses. Hearing the door to the roof slam shut, he looked up and saw her. "Good afternoon, Ms. Inoue."

"Hey Doctor Aizen," Orihime skipped a few steps to catch up to him. "You're looking rather spiffy. Got plans?"

He nodded, smiling eerily. "I have a date tonight."

Orihime whistled. "Nice. Lucky girl." She returned the smile companionably, though she still felt a little uneasy around him. "Why not take the elevator?"

"An old man like me has to exercise every once in a while," he replied with a chuckle. "Though I went downstairs earlier and couldn't help but notice a chair in the middle of the elevator. What was that about, I wonder?"

"Oh, that was me." Orihime straightened her back and lifted her head proudly. "It's Ulquiorra's. Don't move it, though He's had this coming for a while."

Aizen tilted his head. "Gin let you get away with that?"

"What? People aren't supposed to take the elevator if the building bursts into flames, so it's not like it's a fire hazard." She winked at the handsome-yet-creepy psychologist as they reached her floor. "You ought to know that, Doctor."

"Haha, of course. I hope he doesn't get too mad at you." Aizen lifted his hand in a wave and continued his descent while Orihime pushed open the door to the fourth floor. Even if Ulquiorra did, she would make sure she was gone for the night before he unleashed his full wrath upon her – or Grimmjow, who would probably be used as a scapegoat. Poor bastard.

Having been granted a spare key by Gin, Orihime let herself into the apartment and went straight to the kitchen, her heart racing. There was nothing to be afraid of. If she just followed the directions she'd printed, she would be done in no time. Besides, it wasn't like she was making the dough herself – she hadn't been quite daring enough to attempt that – which significantly cut down her sources of stress. First, she needed to make the sauce. She went to the well-stocked refrigerator, retrieving a number of ingredients and eyeing yesterday's leftovers a bit hungrily.

Where had Ulquiorra learned to cook, anyway? Now that she thought about it, there were plenty of things she still didn't know about him. For example, while helping him sort out the contents of his file cabinet, she'd found a picture of him much younger, on the ground surrounded by at least five dogs of different breeds, trying desperately to hold an ice cream cone out of their reach. Whose dogs were they? Who had taken the picture? How had he become such good friends with Grimmjow when they could hardly stand each other? Had he ever had a romantic fling with anyone, particularly other celebrities?

Then again, she supposed it was fair. There were still plenty of things he didn't know about her, either, and she was planning on keeping it that way. Ulquiorra was her friend, sure, but she had a tendency to hold all of her friends at arm's length, even Chizuru.

It took Orihime a moment to figure out how to turn on the stove, which caused her to have a miniature panic attack. But once she'd gotten the hang of it, she was delighted to find that it wasn't as hard as she'd thought it would be. If she didn't cause any major catastrophes, perhaps she could convince Ulquiorra to teach her how to make something, though he would probably start her off on ramen and claim that she wasn't experienced enough for the big leagues yet.

"Hmph. I'll show him," she muttered, then proceeded to spend the next ten minutes trying to figure out how to preheat the oven. In her excitement, she wasn't aware of the time passing and didn't hear the front door open until she turned around and found Ulquiorra standing in the kitchen entry. He had a malevolent look on his face, his green eyes narrowing as he set the first of the dining table chairs – presumably the one from the elevator – down in front of him. From where he stood, he couldn't see the one on top of the refrigerator, which made it all the more amusing. "Oh, hey Ulquiorra! How were your students today?"

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, tapping the chair once for emphasis. "And where are the others?"

Orihime shrugged and pulled open the drawer containing the oven mitts. "Oh, gee, I don't know. You could always ask my friends at the AA meetings." She slipped on the oversized glove and opened the door, a blast of hot, delicious-smelling air warming her face. "Now why don't you go wash up for dinner, _snookums_? It's almost ready."

Ulquiorra took in the sight in front of him: a snarky ex-prostitute stood in his kitchen, hair clipped up and out of the way, wearing an apron and oven mitts, looking very much like a housewife. He kind of wanted to get a picture of her like this for whenever she was being particularly annoying and needed to be threatened… but at the moment, he was far too suspicious of her motives to go grab his camera. "I don't want any," he said cautiously. What he _wanted _was to find his damn chairs. His toolbox had been sitting on top of the table, and that severely worried him.

"Too bad. I've been in this kitchen for two hours. The least you can do is humor me." Orihime withdrew the two pizzas from the oven and quickly placed them on a block to keep the trays from burning the counter.

"Can I ask why you're making me dinner?"

"Nope."

"Okay. Where do you expect us to sit, Ms. Inoue?"

"On the sofa. You know, like normal people our ages do." She pulled off the oven mitt and smiled in satisfaction at her creation. "Wow, it looks edible!" she cried with delight.

Ulquiorra grabbed the chair and turned towards the living room. "If that was supposed to make me feel better…" he muttered, determined to hide how pleased he was on the inside as he dragged the lone chair back to the table. She'd made him dinner. For some reason, that gave him this pleasant sensation in the pit of his stomach, so he took to repeating it in his mind. _She made me dinner, she made me dinner, she made_… He paused, finding the second chair – or rather, a pile of parts and a cushion that altogether comprised the second chair – in the middle of the hallway. _I'm going to kill her_.

In the end, he was far too annoyed to speak with her throughout dinner, especially after finding the third and fourth chairs in their respective locations. And the pizza, he told her spitefully, could have used less cheddar.

…

Rangiku Matsumoto was a very entertaining drunk. "Oh my God, is she really going to do it?" Orihime whispered, clinging to her second bottle of alcohol and wishing she were more intoxicated than she felt. But she'd promised that she wasn't going to go crazy, and Chizuru was watching her like a hawk. Dressed in a halter top and tight jeans, Orihime sat close to the edge of the booth in case she had to go running to save her boss. Next to her, Nel was surrounded by at least a dozen empty bottles and, annoyingly, perfectly sober.

"Looks like it," Chizuru commented, and the three of them watched Rangiku – who was wearing a little black dress that showed off her ample cleavage and lots of bangles on both her wrists and ankles – clumsily make her way to the stage at the front of the bar where a karaoke contest had been taking place. She'd sworn that she was going to, but none of them had believed her. Now, as she staggered towards the karaoke machine, jingling all the way, they could only pray that she was a decent singer.

Nel shook her head sadly. "You Americans are such lightweights. I would hate to see what would happen if you tried absinthe."

On stage, Rangiku grabbed hold of the microphone stand, swaying unsteadily as a melancholy tune began to play. She sniffled, looking like she was on the verge of tears despite the hoots and whistles she was getting from the men in the audience. Was she going to cry _again_? Orihime had already had to bum tissues from a girl in the booth next to them, and no matter how many times she asked Rangiku why she was crying, the blonde had been unable to answer through her sobs. But she held back as she opened her mouth and half-sung, half-slurred. "_You and me, we used to be together, everyday together, always…_"

"Ooh, I love this song!" Nel squealed and let out a high-pitched giggle. Okay, maybe she wasn't as sober as she let on.

"_I really feel… that I'm losing my best friend. I can't believe this could be the end…_" Rangiku's bottom lip trembled, but the cheers and insistence from the audience kept her going, and by the time she reached the chorus of the song she had found the strength to belt out the lyrics like there was no tomorrow. Orihime couldn't help feeling that the woman was singing _to _someone, but she would ask about that later. For now, she whipped open her phone and quickly navigated the menu to get a video of the spectacle for her coworkers. Momo would want to see this, she was sure.

Nel had started dancing next to Chizuru, singing along, which Chizuru didn't seem to mind at all. Orihime shook her head and giggled, kind of wishing Ulquiorra and Grimmjow were there to witness this, but the former was far too uptight to drink and the latter… well, he wasn't welcome among pretty girls who were under the influence of anything.

When she had finished the song and shouted a very spirited "Good night, Cleveland!" despite the fact that they were nowhere near Ohio, Rangiku stumbled off of the stage and collapsed into the booth next to Orihime, groaning. "Shit, Hime, I made an ass of myself," she muttered, slurring every other word.

"What? No way. You managed to stay in tune the entire time," Orihime offered, making sure to hide her phone and the blackmail video of the century.

"_I _thought you were great, Ran-Ran," Chizuru threw in with a sultry purr.

Rangiku lifted her head, a grief-stricken look on her flushed face. "H-H-H-He used to call me Ran-Ran!" she wailed and promptly began to cry anew, diving into Orihime's chest for comfort. The redhead stiffened and patted her back awkwardly, ignoring the way Chizuru's mouth fell open in a fit of jealousy.

"Who did, sweetie?" she asked, hoping to get an answer this time. But Rangiku merely took in a deep, shuddering breath that resembled a stalling car engine, which she followed with a howl that startled a couple making out in the booth to their right. Orihime looked back at Chizuru and Nel, who had started reciting the entire periodic table of elements. "I think she's had enough."

"I agree." Chizuru glanced at her cell phone screen. "Geez, it's only ten-thirty. Why did we go out so early again?"

"_I have to work tomorrow_," Rangiku said in a deep, throaty voice that sounded like she was telling someone she had cancer. She clung to Orihime as the girl carefully navigated her way out of the booth and helped her to her feet. Chizuru and Nel followed behind them, ready to catch both in the event that Rangiku's strength would fade and send them crashing to the sticky floor. It was a good thing they had decided against doing this at the Haineko Diner; this display of zero dignity would have lost Rangiku the respect of her employees. Lucky for her, Orihime found that she had no room to judge. She'd been in worse states than this on several occasions.

"Am I driving you guys back to Las Noches?" Chizuru asked as they exited the bar. "Or should we take this one to the hospital _before _the symptoms of alcohol poisoning begin?"

"Number 48, Cadmium; uh… number 49, Indium…"

"Las Noches. If they find out that Nel's drunk, and a minor, we could get into some serious trouble. Besides, we have a doctor in the building," Orihime said, though she wasn't sure if Szayel would even be there.

"_Excusez-moi?_"

"Nothing, Nel! Just keep counting those elements. What comes after Antimony?"

"Oh! Ah, that would be Tellurium…" And with that, Nel was going down the list again. Chizuru unlocked her car, then helped Orihime lower Rangiku into the backseat and secure her seatbelt. Her head lolled to the side, her blonde hair covering her face as she struggled to stay awake.

Orihime sighed and reached into her purse for her phone. It was time to do the unthinkable: Ask Ulquiorra for a favor _after _she'd pissed him off. She bumped Rangiku's door closed with her rear and walked around the back of the car, pressing the phone to her ear. It rang once, twice, three times. Maybe he wasn't home? He usually picked up rather quickly. Five rings, and then he answered just as she slid into the backseat. "_Ms. Inoue, I will tell you right now that if this is some drunken prank call, I'm going to throw you into the swimming pool._"

"So violent. Are you on your period again?" Orihime closed the car door after her. Rangiku's head slid onto her shoulder. "Oh Great and Wonderful, Genius Pianist and Musician of the Century…"

"_What do you want_?"

"My boss is drunk, and drooling on me." She nudged Rangiku away from her, cringing as the blonde's temple hit the window rather hard. Chizuru gave her a horrified look through the rearview mirror. Orihime leaned over to check if she was alright. "Can she stay the night?"

Silence.

"Number 78, Platinum… number 79, Gold…"

"_No, don't go up the stairs. Don't you hear the ominous music playing? …what do you mean, you're going to try to crown the witch _now_? Oh, fine."_

"Ulquiorra?"

"_That's an awfully strange idea for a sleepover, Ms. Inoue_."

"I'll cook you dinner again," she offered.

"You cooked him dinner?" Chizuru cried indignantly. "You never cooked me dinner!"

Across town, Ulquiorra sat on Grimmjow's sofa, his eyes glued to the television screen in morbid fascination as the Frenchman rapidly shot at an enraged, emaciated female zombie that oddly reminded him of Orihime in her wild attack methods, all the while letting out a string of expletives. "Hmm… only if I get to pick the dish next time," he said as the body slumped to the floor. "You failed, by the way."

"I fucking know!" Grimmjow yelled.

Back in the car, Orihime held the phone away from her ear at the sudden outburst. "Alright, fine. Thank you."

"_You're welcome, Ms. Inoue_."

"By the way, could you come downstairs to help us? Nel's drunk too, I think… she's working her way down the periodic table of elements."

"_Jesus Christ!_" she heard Grimmjow yell.

"_Why did you shoot the car?_" Ulquiorra griped before hanging up. Orihime sighed and dropped her phone back into her purse, hoping that he'd heard her, and that Rangiku would hold off on vomiting until they were out of the vehicle. At least when she'd gotten drunk on her own, she didn't have to worry about picking up after anyone else. But she had to admit that she'd had fun… still _was_ having fun, even if Rangiku was half-conscious, Nel was reciting scientific jargon, and Chizuru looked like a stressed out soccer mom with a van full of children.

Needless to say, Orihime felt like she'd found herself the perfect batch of friends.

When they arrived at Las Noches, she was relieved to find Ulquiorra standing outside, hands in his pockets, staring off into space. Chizuru pulled up to the front of the building and parked while Orihime unfastened Rangiku's seatbelt. Nel was the first to climb out of the car, staggering over to Ulquiorra and throwing her arms around his neck, giving him a very loud kiss on both cheeks before sauntering towards the lobby, singing an airy French song. "Uh… I'll see to it that she gets upstairs safely," he suggested, turning and jogging after her.

Orihime looked at Chizuru. "Well, that leaves you and me to deal with this," she said, and they both stared down at Rangiku, who was about to fall out of the car. Stooping forward, they pulled her out and onto her feet, then slung her arms over their shoulders. Rangiku groaned and nearly fell backwards, which led to a bit of a scramble as Orihime and Chizuru struggled to regain their balance. "Geez! Hold still, boss."

"You ladies need some help?" Gin had emerged from the building upon witnessing Ulquiorra steady a tottering Nel in the lobby. But suddenly he froze, and Orihime could see from a distance that his eyes had widened considerably, his gaze fixed dead ahead… right on Rangiku.

The blonde stared back at him. There was a tense silence, permeated only by the sounds of cars passing on the busy street nearby. Then Rangiku broke away from her support, staggering clumsily on heeled feet, her bangles jingling like bells. "G-Gin…?" she whispered, nearly doubled over and unable to walk straight. "Izzat you, Gin…?" Her slurred voice was tiny and childlike as she reached out for him, fingers groping the air uncertainly.

Gin merely stared at her. He looked like he had seen a ghost; like he was about to turn tail and run back into the building. But when Rangiku pitched forward, about to fall, he tore away from the stairs leading up to the entrance and caught her before she hit the cold cement.

"Gin," she whimpered, her gaze glossy and unfocused. "Gin…" And then her head drooped to the side, eyes closing, and two warm tears spilled down her cheeks, dripping onto his shirt.

Gin stared down at her, lifting his hand to wipe the wet tracks that had formed on her skin. "Oh, Ran…" he murmured, his fear replaced by a sadness that Orihime would have never thought the constantly smiling man capable of.

He had a _lot _of explaining to do.

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Next Chapter: Gin is elusive, Rangiku is hung-over, Orihime gets the bed, and Ulquiorra gets some shocking news.


	13. Lie To Me

**A/N: **Oh my goodness! 200 reviews! Heck, we even got past the 200 mark! Which is funny because I just got done celebrating 100 reviews last week. ;w; You guys make me so happy.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach! Damn, y'all see Aizen's latest digivolution yet? At least he doesn't look like a Pokemon anymore.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Lie To Me**

Gin Ichimaru was a heartless bastard. At least, that's what Orihime found herself muttering as she exchanged one vomit bucket for another and, holding her breath, went to rinse the full one in the sink. He had left not even ten minutes after bringing Rangiku to the apartment. They'd called Szayel up to do a quick evaluation to make sure she wasn't dying, then Gin had pretty much flown the coop, but not without a few parting words to the assembled group.

"_Ms. Inoue, could you do me a huge favor?"_

"_Yeah, if you tell me what the fuck's going on."_

_He sighed. "All of you, please… when she wakes up, no matter what it takes, convince her that she was dreaming."_

_Orihime's jaw had unhinged in disbelief, more so when Ulquiorra readily agreed and went to his bedroom as if this had nothing to do with him. Well, technically it didn't, but still. "Can I at least know why?"_

_Gin looked at her, smile gone, eyes open. He was dead serious. "Just trust me, Ms. Inoue. It would be best if we all acted like this had never happened." Then he'd looked at Chizuru, who had held up her hands and declared that she didn't live there so it wasn't her problem. "I know it doesn't make sense now, but I _promise _you that if I haven't told you by the end of the month, you can kick my ass. Please, just give me three more weeks. That's all I'm asking."_

"_You want me to lie to Rangiku for three weeks? It would help if I knew what I was lying about!" Orihime cried._

"_End of the month, Ms. Inoue. I swear to whatever deity you worship that you will know by Halloween."_

And that was that. Orihime squirted a liberal amount of dish soap onto the tray and ran the garbage disposal, even though the noise would probably make Rangiku's growing migraine hammer against the inside of her skull. She scrubbed it furiously, unable to contain her anger. It hadn't helped that when she'd asked Ulquiorra why he had agreed so quickly, he'd gotten all "rational" on her.

"_Gin has been nothing but kind to me and you. We should return the favor," _he'd told her with a stern glare. In other words, _Instead of letting yourself be governed by your ovaries, think with your brain_. Prick.

Thankfully, when she returned to the living room, Rangiku hadn't thrown up again. She was sprawled out on the sofa bed, letting out fevered moans. Orihime sighed. Hearing footsteps, she looked up to find Ulquiorra coming out of the hall with a disgruntled look on his face and a pillow tucked under his arm. "Where are you going?" she whispered.

"Downstairs. It's about time Grimmjow paid me back for all the times I let him stay the night here," Ulquiorra hissed, then pursed his lips and concentrated very hard on what he was about to say. "This means… that I am entrusting my apartment to you…" he ground out between clenched teeth, slowly enough for her to understand. "You are responsible for her," he jerked his chin in Rangiku's direction, "and everything else. If I come back to find vomit on my floor, in the bathroom… hell, if I even _smell _it when I walk in here tomorrow morning, I'm going to handcuff you to the dumpster outside and let the sanitation experts carry you off to the landfill. I _mean _it." His brows furrowed. "Furthermore, you owe me _big time_. I'm thinking a three course dinner; pot roast with steamed vegetables, a light soup for an appetizer and pineapple upside-down cake for dessert. What do you think, Ms. Inoue?"

Orihime rolled her eyes. She thought it sounded rather appetizing, but she was _not _making all that food. "Why can't you just sleep in your bed? Keep the door closed or something."

And now Ulquiorra sighed even deeper, but he could no longer bring himself to glare at her. "That's for you," he muttered, then trudged as quickly and noiselessly as he could toward the front door. "Call me if you need anything, or if she dies."

Orihime stood staring at the door as it closed behind him, blinking in surprise. Had he really just _given _her his bed? For real? This wasn't a dream, right? She pinched herself just to be sure. Nothing changed. Excitement bubbled in her stomach, her anger at Gin momentarily forgotten as she slid the puke bucket closer to Rangiku, then promptly sprinted down the hall. She giggled like a child on a sugar rush as she pushed the bedroom door open and, after a whole two seconds of indecision, made a flying leap onto the enormous bed.

_Wow_. No wonder Ulquiorra complained about the sofa being bad to his back. This mattress was indescribably good, oh-so-comfortable; it could probably knock out an insomniac! She bet it was one of those fancy posture-friendly ones that she'd seen on television. Orihime sat up, looked around, grabbed the alarm clock on his nightstand and put it on the corner of the bed, then got to her feet and started jumping. The alarm clock remained perfectly motionless.

Another minute of breathless laughter and spirited leaping later, she collapsed back onto the mattress and laid there a moment, feeling her heart pound from the exhilaration. She needed to make sure Rangiku was okay. But first, she wanted to enjoy the bed a little longer, as she would probably be up for most of the night swapping out barf buckets anyway. She turned onto her side, flipped onto her stomach, twisted herself into a yoga pose that she couldn't quite manage to execute flawlessly. Still comfortable! Damn, Ulquiorra never skimped on anything, did he? She seized one of the extra pillows and brought it closer, then placed her head on top of it, betting that it would be just as cozy as the bed.

But Orihime found herself distracted by the scent that clung to it. She turned her head, buried her nose in the pillow and breathed in deeply, then exhaled. Laundry detergent, and something else; whatever Ulquiorra used in the shower. It smelled like him, plain and simple. She lay there for a while, eyes wide open, basking in the scent of comfort and cleanliness and _boy_. What had her apartment smelled like? Mold, staleness, beer, cigarettes, and garbage.

In a month and some-odd days, her life had gone from one extreme to the other. And it was funny, because her old self never would have pictured herself being somewhere so vastly different – a place that smelled so very… nice. Yes, she decided, this was a nice smell. It kind of made her heart beat a little faster.

…

Of course, when Rangiku woke up in the morning, she was positively frantic. "Gin!" she cried, gasping as she sat up on the sofa bed and looked around, completely disoriented. Where was she? Reaching up to smooth down her flyaway hair, she thought back to the events of the previous night. The last that she remembered was seeing Gin, and… oh, there was Orihime, coming out of what appeared to be the kitchen. "Where am I?"

"My apartment," Orihime answered, then scrunched her face up as if she'd tasted something funny. "Here," she handed Rangiku a steaming mug of peppermint tea that she'd found near the coffee, "It'll soothe your stomach." Orihime sat down on the edge of the sofa bed and watched her boss sniff the liquid curiously before lifting the mug to her lips. It didn't take long for the older woman's eyes to mist over with tears, which she tried desperately to blink away.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, her chin trembling as she rubbed the heel or her palm against her eyes. "I had a bad dream, I think… or, rather, a dream that was too good to be true."

Orihime felt a pang of guilt sucker-punch her heart. "It's alright. We all have them." She rubbed Rangiku's back soothingly, but it was an empty gesture. Three weeks. She was supposed to keep up this façade for three weeks? Maybe she could ask Ulquiorra for tips. He was good at deceiving people. And while she was at it, she could attempt to negotiate an arrangement where she could sleep in his bed at least twice a month. After tending to Rangiku a bit more the night before, she'd fallen onto that sinfully soft mattress, wrapped herself up in Ulquiorra's blankets – which also smelled like him – and slept like the dead. An earthquake wouldn't have been able to shake her out of that slumber. She had felt so refreshed when she'd woken up an hour earlier that she'd even done her sit-up regiment, though she had only been able to get to fifty before she stopped. Damn, she was out of shape.

Rangiku stared down at her forlorn reflection in the murky tea. "I look like crap," she muttered, then cringed and massaged her temples. "I _feel _like crap."

"What did you expect? You got drunk," Orihime reminded her. "Don't sweat it. If you need to change, you can borrow some of my clothes, though you're taller than me."

"Oh, no, it's alright. I'll take the bus home." Rangiku smiled sadly. "I'll just look like any other woman on a walk of shame, right?" She took another sip of tea and closed her eyes, her shoulders hunched low. "I can't believe it… that dream was so real." Orihime winced. "I could feel _everything_." Rangiku lifted her head. "Oh well. It followed the same pattern as the hundreds of others, so it couldn't have been reality."

"What was the dream about?" Orihime asked, hoping her voice didn't sound forced.

Rangiku stood up and downed the last of her tea. "I was reunited with my best friend." She laughed. "Doesn't that sound nice?"

Gin and Rangiku had been best friends? Orihime could believe that – now that she thought about it, their sense of humor was quite similar – but she'd seen far too many sappy romance movies to know that there had been something more to the way they'd looked at each other last night. Then again, if they had been lovers, Rangiku would have said so. It didn't seem like something she'd leave out of the conversation. "Here, let me get that for you." Orihime took the Berlin mug and made her way back to the kitchen, wanting to kick herself. She was acting suspicious. But luckily, Rangiku was far too distracted to notice.

"Where's your roommate?" The blonde was now investigating the living space, much like Orihime had when she'd first started staying there. Her manicured fingers slid along the length of the piano. "The one who dragged you out of the bar a while ago?"

"Oh, Ulquiorra? He stayed downstairs with a friend," Orihime answered as she rinsed out the coffee mug in the kitchen sink. Once finished, she cut the water and glanced up to find Rangiku staring at her. "What?"

"Ulquiorra?" The older woman suddenly leapt away from the piano. "As in, Ulquiorra Ingram?"

Shit. "Uh…"

"I knew it! I knew I had seen him before, but I just couldn't place my finger on it!" Rangiku ran into the kitchen and took Orihime by the shoulders, shaking her and regretting it immediately when her head throbbed. "Girl, why didn't you tell me you were staying with _the _Ulquiorra Ingram?" Then she released the jostled redhead and gasped. "My God. Our little Orihime is living with, and possibly romantically involved with, a missing celebrity. Could you imagine the headlines?"

Orihime reached out and clasped a hand over Rangiku's mouth, effectively cutting off her speech and her train of thought. "Don't. Tell. _Anyone_," she hissed. What the hell was she supposed to do now? Things had been going so well, and just like that, she had let the secret of Ulquiorra's location slip to her boss. "Please don't. This is important. Do you understand? Nod if yes, shake your head if no." Rangiku nodded once and Orihime retracted her hand. "And for the record, we are _not _romantically involved," she was quick to add, shaking her head rapidly at the thought. Sure, in some lights he might have been what most people considered to be "good looking", and if he so desired, he could probably use those skilled, piano playing hands of his to take a woman to cloud nine. However, he was still a psycho and a drama queen. Back when he'd rearranged the furniture, it had taken her an hour to convince him to move the dining table to the front of the window again, and he'd stared at it so anxiously that she'd finally suggested switching the chairs around to feel like he'd done something with it.

Speaking of which, she had noticed that every chair was back in place except for one. She'd kind of wished she had labeled them so she could figure out which chair was missing, though she could bet that the odd number was driving Ulquiorra nuts.

Wait, what if letting her sleep in his bed had been his final act of kindness before killing her? What if he was downstairs right now planning how to make the inevitable homicide look like an accident? Nel would be too hung-over to stop him, and Grimmjow would probably be forced into the conspiracy, as Ulquiorra seemed to be the mastermind in their dysfunctional friendship.

Rangiku crossed her arms, a perfectly shaped eyebrow pulling upwards. "So why _are _you living with him, then? Was it some kind of prize for finding him? Like a bizarre treasure hunt?"

"No, it just… happened." Orihime didn't feel like explaining her entire sob story of a life at the moment. She was currently debating on whether or not she should write up a last will and testament to slip into Rangiku's purse while she wasn't looking. "He's not the most hospitable person in the world, either, so I'm highly suspicious of his motives."

"Girl, he wants you."

She snorted. "Yeah, right. I'm about ninety-percent sure he's gay."

Rangiku pouted. "Seriously? That's disappointing, because I knew so many girls back in the day who were ready and willing to jump his bones." She sighed a bit dejectedly. "Mostly for the money, though. He's like that classical music singer, Josh Groban, minus the vocals. Nice to look at."

"He needs to do something about those eyebrows," Orihime said without skipping a beat. "Now then, just to make sure that you won't go telling anyone about this…" She grabbed her cell phone off of the counter and found the video she had taken of Rangiku singing and dancing at the bar the night before, holding it up for her to see.

Rangiku glared at her. "You're so cold, Hime."

"It's a matter of self-preservation. If _you_ let it slip that _I_ let it slip that Ulquiorra's hiding in this dump of a city, I'll be out of a home. Or dead, because I am also quite sure that he's a sociopath." Orihime snapped her cell phone shut. "So, you keep this to yourself, and I'll keep that video away from anyone who'll care to see it."

"You drive a hard bargain," Rangiku said airily as they shook hands on it. "And because you've been nice enough to put up with me all night, I'm giving you the day off."

"Really?"

"You've earned it, girly."

Once Orihime had put on her shoes and retrieved her key, she walked Rangiku down to the lobby, not failing to notice Gin duck into the back office the moment they came into view. She ventured a cautious look up at her boss, but the pale-faced, migraine-afflicted woman hadn't seen him. Damn, this was going to be annoying. At least they could avoid anymore mishaps in the building; she had a feeling that, despite the frequency of Rangiku's drinking, this improvised sleepover had been a one-time thing. She made sure the hung-over blonde had safely gotten onto a bus before reentering Las Noches, shooting Gin a look to serve as a clear reminder of his promise. Three weeks, and then she could throttle him. Gin didn't even try to smile at her.

What was it with these people and their secrets? Well, Orihime supposed that made her fit right in.

When she got back to the apartment, she closed and locked the door quickly, taking the stillness as a sign that Ulquiorra had yet to return. Perfect. She was going to take advantage of his absence to catch a few extra winks on that wonderful bed of his.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Gah!" she cried, whirling around and placing a hand to her chest. Ulquiorra sat on the sofa, which he had reverted to couch form while she'd been downstairs. His eyes were closed, head tilted back so that his hair was away from his face for once – not a bad look for him, she observed – with his arms stretched along the top of the sofa. He looked… rumpled. "Don't scare me like that!" Orihime hissed. So much for her plan. With a heavy sigh, she sauntered over and joined him, flopping down next to him and blowing out her bangs. "What's up with you? Did you not sleep well?"

Ulquiorra echoed her sigh. "Not particularly." He turned his head to stare at her tiredly. "You got the good bed last night."

"It's not like I forced you out of it," Orihime reminded him. "But thank you."

"Yeah, sure," he grumbled. They sat in silence for a moment. "Did you tell Ms. Matsumoto about last night?"

"Nope." As much as she'd wanted to, she had miraculously kept her mouth shut. "She gave me the day off, since I'd put up with all of her drunken drama." Orihime looked up at him. "We should do something fun."

Ulquiorra closed his eyes again, stretching his long legs and arching his back off of the sofa, the movement met with an audible pop from his spine. "Does it involve physical activity?" he asked, relaxing his limbs and letting out a soft groan.

Now Orihime definitely felt a little sorry for him. She'd always had trouble falling asleep in strange beds. Except for his, but she couldn't really call it strange. The thing had been _built_ for effortless dozing, and besides, it had smelled like him. Not a mix of an obese, married lawyer and his wife's perfume; not a sweaty college guy who either couldn't afford an air freshener or thought they were for pansies; and not some pothead who wasted his days getting high and watching cars pass on the freeway. She leaned to the side, resting her head against his arm and breathing in. Ulquiorra eyed her curiously. "Ms. Inoue?"

"Hmm?" Orihime looked up at him. Oh, he _was_ kind of cute, actually. Maybe it was just the fact that his hair was pushed back and slowly resettling, giving him somewhat of a mad scientist look with it sticking up in random directions. Or it could have been the wrinkled clothes that he'd slept in, the bleariness of his deep green eyes… it could have been a lot of things, really. Why hadn't she noticed before?

"Your bra is showing." Ah, yes, because he was a cretin.

"I'm going to take a nap. In _your _bed," she informed him, standing from the couch and making her way down the hall. What was this weird feeling creeping up on her? Was that disappointment? She frowned as she slammed his bedroom door shut behind her and crawled into his bed, kicking off her shoes and burrowing beneath the covers. It was plenty dark in there thanks to the drawn curtains; she could probably sleep straight through the rest of the day.

But she found herself troubled by her thoughts as she stared at the wall, unable to close her eyes. This was stupid. She'd been a lot more cheerful lately, and her perception of Ulquiorra had certainly been different ever since the day she'd gone out with Rukia and the group. The way she was suddenly so willing to act like an idiot in front of him – making him dinner in a freaking _apron_, feeling lonely when he was gone, enjoying his scent of all things, expecting him to change and actually being let down when he didn't – one could have said that she might have been sporting a tiny crush on him. But that was a dangerous idea to toy with. She'd had crushes before, and nothing had ever come from them, of course. She was forgetting her place.

Even if she did end up liking him by some unlikely twist of fate, what could she offer him other than sex? She was a prostitute. Everything she had to give had been taken away before she'd had time to realize it was worth holding onto.

In the living room, Ulquiorra breathed a sigh of relief as soon as Orihime had gone. Thank goodness. He'd had to get her away from him, because for a moment he'd been having some errant thoughts that could have ended very, very badly. It was weird to him, considering the nature of their relationship. How did those awful people who tested potentially dangerous products on animals _not _get attached to the adorable creatures they worked with? He pushed himself up and walked over to the piano, sliding onto the bench and lifting the cover off of the keys, his fingers itching to replicate the line that had just formed in his mind. It was incomplete, but it was better than nothing.

…

Orihime slept much longer than she'd wanted to. By the time she woke up, it was two in the afternoon, and it was a good thing that she'd gotten the day off or Rangiku would have blown her top. She sat up and yawned lazily. Well, at least the nap had cleared her mind of all those crazy thoughts. Hadn't she asked Ulquiorra for something fun to do earlier? If he was home, she would pester him until he found some way to entertain her.

And he was home, but when she entered the living room, she found him in a similar state to the one she'd just come out of. He was lying on the sofa, one of the cushions tucked under his head, with an arm up to cover his eyes, fast asleep. Orihime pressed her lips together to keep from laughing out loud. How cute! She tip-toed closer and crouched down beside him, watching his deep, even breathing cause his chest to rise and fall. Too bad he didn't snore. That would have been perfect fodder for jokes.

She stayed there a while, debating on whether or not she should wake him up, especially since watching him was making her feel like a stalker. She grinned when his fingers twitched, half-expecting him to start playing the piano in his sleep. Ah, this was excellent, but she had to end it. "Hey, Ulquiorra," she poked him in the side and he shifted slightly, muttering under his breath, "come on, it's two o'clock."

He lifted his arm from his face, his brow furrowing as he stared at the ceiling. "Hmm?"

"Let's do something fun! Let's watch a movie!" she said, standing and pulling him upright by his wrist. He sat there, blinking slowly, looking even more rumpled than before as she ran over to the console and threw open the cabinet door.

Coming slightly more awake, Ulquiorra rubbed his eyes. "You're so energetic."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"It's annoying. Stop it," he grunted, his voice still thick with sleep. "You woke me out of the deep stages of the cycle. Do you know what that means, Ms. Inoue?"

"I'm thinking _Gone With the Wind_, which scares me because it's actually in here. Your tastes are questionable. Then again, what about an action flick? Or even better, a horror movie! That ought to wake you up. Something with either lots of explosions or people going crazy."

"That means," he glared at her, "that I'm going to go through today feeling like I got no rest whatsoever. Which will make me very unpleasant."

Orihime looked up at him with a bored expression. "Uh-huh." Now that she'd seen him in his adorable, vulnerable state, his threats seemed even emptier. And besides, he was unpleasant every day. The degree of it was the only thing that changed. "_Terminator _or _The Happening_?"

Ulquiorra waved a hand dismissively. "You pick." He had a bit of a headache, which resulted from him dozing off when he hadn't even wanted to. He wasn't the type to take naps in the middle of the day, so now he felt sluggish and irritable. Orihime had grabbed the remote and turned the TV on, flipping through a number of random channels, frowning when she paused to find that she was in the two-hundreds.

"Where's your movie channel?" she asked him.

"Press the setting button on the remote."

"…_died today at age 62. He was the owner of_…"

"Setting, you said?"

"Wait!" Ulquiorra held up his hand, staring at the television. Orihime paused and looked too. It was one of those entertainment news shows that reported on everything celebrities did, as if people truly cared enough to know. There was a picture of a gray-haired man on the screen, sort of scruffy with a sharp look about him, dressed nicely. The blond newscaster went on reporting with an impersonal frown.

"…_was known for producing not only several modern artists, but a plethora of classical music artists as well. He died in his Steilacoom, Washington home this morning from health complications…_"

"Huh." Orihime blinked. "What is… Ulquiorra?" She looked up, but he was no longer on the sofa. He stood by the dining table, phone pressed to his ear. His face was completely emotionless; it was almost frightening. What was going on? Orihime heard someone answer.

"Hey," he said quietly, staring off into space as the voice on the other end spoke. "Yeah, it's me. I just heard." Silence. "I'm really sorry." But he didn't _sound _sorry. He didn't sound anything. His voice was flat, toneless. Listening to him speak, Orihime felt as if the Ulquiorra she knew had disappeared. But _this _Ulquiorra wasn't a stranger, either. The edge to his words, the hardness of his eyes, his set jaw… She'd come face to face with him just the other day when he'd lost one of his students. "When's the funeral?" The other voice spoke for a while. Orihime muted the television to see if she could hear better. "No… I'll be there. I promise."

"_Alright, just… call if you need anything._" It was a woman.

"Shouldn't I be saying that to you?" After another moment, he ended the call, but he didn't turn to look at Orihime. She didn't know what to do, what to say. For someone so interested in learning the man's secrets, she found herself speechless in the presence of the side of him that had secrets to keep. Then the stillness was broken. Ulquiorra glanced at her over his shoulder. "Ever been on a plane before?"

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Did I just give you all the worst case of GinRan blue balls ever? Maybe. Are some of you starting to see the bigger picture here? Perhaps.

Next Chapter: Ulquiorra throws up a lot, then whisks Orihime clear across the country… but what for?


	14. Down By the Bay

**Warning**: The following chapter contains FLUFF! How long have we been waiting for that, right?

**Disclaimer: **Bleach is not mine!

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Down By the Bay**

Orihime had not been on a plane before.

It was absolutely bewildering, how fast it had all happened. One moment she had been standing in the living room with a DVD in hand; the next she was on the phone with Rangiku, apologizing profusely and telling her that she would be missing from work due to what Ulquiorra simply called a "family emergency;" and the next she was helping him rearrange the furniture… again. All of that Sunday afternoon had been dedicated to pushing things to and fro, deciding on where the dishes should go _together _so that she wouldn't have to spend five minutes looking for plates and cups. The coffee mugs had also been exchanged: New Orleans, Austin, Miami, Honolulu, Denver, and Salt Lake City had joined Batman on the little wooden rack. In the process, Orihime had finally discovered where the others had disappeared to: on the top shelf of the pantry rested an arsenal of boxes that corresponded to each mug. How many did he _have_?

But even this had not been enough to relieve Ulquiorra's stress. No, he'd actually had to brew himself a mug of coffee in an effort to stop his hands from shaking, which had unfortunately just made the tremors worse. Orihime had paced the living room, unsure of what to do with herself as he'd sat down with his laptop and coffee, pulling up his internet browser and opening a series of tabs, each with a different travel website on it. She'd watched over his shoulder as he flipped back and forth between them, staring at the numbers on the screen. Had it always been that expensive to fly? She'd never been out of the city; no vacations, no school trips to free her from its borders.

And then, things had gone from bad to worse. Either the coffee hadn't been too good to begin with, or Ulquiorra was more anxious than Orihime thought, because after booking the flight for the next day and staggering about in a daze, he'd barely made it to the bathroom before he'd thrown up what little was in his stomach. Twenty minutes later, it had happened again, only this time he'd had nothing in his system and ended up suffering a bout of painful dry heaves.

For a good hour or so, Orihime thought she was going to cry. She was terrified. Ulquiorra obviously wasn't okay; he'd broken out into a cold sweat, his body wouldn't stop shaking, and he couldn't keep anything down. But whenever he did address her, it would be to ask simple questions. "Do you suffer from motion sickness?" Not that she knew of. "Do you get nosebleeds at high altitudes?" No, she'd sat in the nosebleed section at a basketball game once upon a time and had been perfectly fine. "Do you own a black dress?" She did, but she wasn't sure if it was modest enough for a funeral.

The whole night had gone by in a whirlwind of tension. Ulquiorra hadn't slept, and the noisy packing of his clothing had kept Orihime up as well, until she'd finally decided to do some packing of her own. There were plenty of luggages for both of them. He patiently instructed her on what she could and couldn't take according to airline regulations, then left her on her own after remembering that he had yet to get a rental car for their stay.

Finally, at the crack of dawn, Ulquiorra had informed both Grimmjow and Gin that he and Orihime would be absent for the next few days. Grimmjow had been quick to tell Ulquiorra that he looked like shit, but he asked no further questions, knowing that if his friend's mood was _that _bad, something serious must have happened.

Fast-forward a few hours later, and Orihime found herself clinging to Ulquiorra's arm as he led her into the sparsely populated airport. Her eyes wide, she took a good look around at the high ceilings, the black screens behind help desks displaying a long list of flights – times and progress highlighted in different colors – the various security officials lounging at every corner, the sharply dressed pilots and stewardesses toting bags of their own. She must have looked as lost as she felt; the man who took and weighed their luggage offered her a reassuring smile before he sent them on their way.

Ulquiorra skipped the next line and instead found a machine which, after some hassle with keys and numbers, spit out two tickets, one of which he handed to Orihime. She stared down at it. There was her name, printed alongside the flight information. _Sea-Tac Airport._ Her mind reeled at the sudden realization that she was about to _fly _to an entirely different state.

She removed her shoes, anklet and other jewelry when they came to the security gate, her stomach fluttering nervously as she stepped barefoot through the metal detector. Luckily, it remained silent. She quickly grabbed her things and rejoined Ulquiorra, who hadn't even brought a carry-on of his own.

It took no time at all for them to find their way to the gate. Orihime had been so distracted staring into the passing shops that she hadn't noticed her phone chime until Ulquiorra looked back at her and asked if she was going to answer it. "Oh, right." She fished the flip-phone out of her purse and glanced at the screen. A text message from Chizuru, probably demanding to know what was going on. She wished she had an answer. Ulquiorra hadn't stopped moving since the previous afternoon; how was she supposed to ask him?

But when they reached Gate 22 and found that the plane had yet to arrive, Orihime decided to seize the opportunity. She waited until Ulquiorra had collapsed into one of the stiff-looking plastic blue chairs, taken a deep breath, and stared off into space for a minute or two before she opened her mouth to speak. "So, I get that we're going to a funeral…" she said cautiously, her back straightening unconsciously when his green eyes settled upon her. "But whose funeral are we going to, exactly?"

Ulquiorra blinked slowly, his eyes widening a fraction, as if he was honestly surprised that he'd forgotten to tell her. "I'm sorry, Ms. Inoue." He motioned to the chair next to him, as she had yet to sit down. She did so obediently. "Pardon my scattered brains. It's…" He sighed. "My adoptive father, Lowell Ingram." And once again, his voice had taken on the same detached note that he'd used when talking on the phone the day before, and he let out a humorless laugh. "And let me apologize ahead of time for what's about to happen."

"What do you mean?" Orihime asked, trying to sound sympathetic. She knew what it was like to lose family. Apparently, he did not.

Ulquiorra shook his head. "To put it frankly, everyone who's been looking for me for the past six years is going to be there." He took in her shocked expression. "Hence the reason I have become so stressed."

Suddenly, Orihime wanted to turn around and run back to the apartment. She was going to witness Ulquiorra Schiffer revert to Ulquiorra Ingram and finally come out of hiding. Whatever came after, she was sure, was going to be very, very bad… and she was going to be caught right in the middle of it. She sank into her plastic chair, staring at the rows of empty seats in front of them. Was she ready for this? It was a selfish thought, considering that whatever happened to her would be nothing compared to what Ulquiorra would be going through. But he seemed to recognize her apprehension, as he looked away from her and gazed out of the tall glass window. "I'm sorry, Ms. Inoue," he said quietly, almost guiltily.

Oh, he definitely wasn't getting that three-course meal now.

But Ulquiorra had hardly been thinking when he'd purchased two plane tickets. He'd been on autopilot, his conscious mind in a fetal position somewhere while his subconscious mind told him what to do. And his subconscious had insisted that he needed Orihime to come with him; not because he didn't trust her enough to leave her alone in his apartment – though he kind of didn't – and not because he worried that she would relapse if she wasn't under his constant supervision – which he sort of did. No, his brain had reasoned, he needed _her_, simply for who she was, and that had almost scared him worse than the people who would be waiting for him in Washington.

…

Airplanes smelled funny, Orihime decided as they boarded the flight a half-hour later. The whole airport had smelled weird, but the plane was even worse. It was threatening to give her a headache. Then again, that could have been the result of her lack of sleep. She glanced briefly at the first class chairs as she followed Ulquiorra down the narrow aisle. "Wait, you're flying coach?"

"Is that so surprising?"

"Well, yeah."

Ulquiorra shook his head. "One should not flaunt wealth simply because they have it," he said, waiting patiently as a businesswoman put her bag in the overhead compartment in front of them. "Besides, it's more fun for you this way."

Orihime scowled. She was highly on edge, her heart thumping between her chest and stomach, making her feel incredibly ill. Most people liked flying, she'd heard. Chizuru and Rangiku had told her that it was no big deal. Statistics said that flying was plenty of times safer than driving. But that didn't change the fact that she would be thousands of miles above the familiar, stable ground for hours at a time. "How long is this flight supposed to last?"

"Not long at all. Four hours, maybe?" Ulquiorra answered. "At least we don't have to stop anywhere in between."

"Goodie!" Orihime said weakly.

The plane was mostly unoccupied, perhaps because, as he'd mentioned the night before, not many people flew this time of year. He offered her the window seat, even though it was supposed to be his. "First timers always get the view," he'd insisted. Orihime didn't really want to look at anything, but if she let on that she was currently in a state of terror, he would only insist further. She had to remember that this guy was a sadist, no matter what was going on in his life. So she grudgingly took the window seat, distracting herself by watching the uniformed men walking around outside. When that got boring, she examined the little black console above her head: a light, a button to summon a flight attendant, and a miniature fan. On the back of the seat in front of her, she noticed a rectangular tray that she let down a little too quickly, causing it to fall with a loud _snap_. She glanced up at Ulquiorra, who was watching her, obviously amused.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything." He reached down to fasten his seatbelt.

Orihime felt an embarrassed blush crawling to her cheeks. She put the tray back up and crossed her arms sulkily, but soon discovered the tiny screen on her armrest. "What's this?" she asked, pressing a button next to it and watching as the number on the screen went up.

Ulquiorra smirked. It was like being with a small child. "A radio."

"I don't hear anything."

"You need headphones," he said just as the plane gave a sudden lurch. Orihime cried out in surprise, then quickly put a hand over her mouth. They were moving, she saw, slowly but surely backing out of the gate. Her anxiety shot through the roof while Ulquiorra chuckled next to her. She smacked him across the arm.

The captain came on, welcoming the passengers and announcing everything from how high they would be flying to their expected arrival time in Seattle. Orihime watched one of the flight attendants demonstrate how to properly fasten the seatbelt – she still needed Ulquiorra's help, despite the explanation – and, in the event of an emergency, how to put on the oxygen mask and life jacket. She tried _not _to think about all the possible ways that this flight could end disastrously. The plane was traveling down a series of paved paths toward the runway. She flinched back in surprise when she saw another plane jet past them, its loud rumble reaching them through the cabin.

Ulquiorra watched her, trying to decide whether or not this would be enough payback for the missing dining chairs. "Do you need me to hold your hand?"

"Shut the fuck up," Orihime growled viciously. Oh yes, this would do. He leaned back, glad that he had this entertaining display of fear to keep him from thinking about what lay ahead. The captain told the flight attendants to prepare for take-off. Orihime watched another plane zoom past, wondering just how much longer it would take for their turn to come. "Hey," she said, suddenly feeling chatty, "so what's the weather going to be like when we get there?"

Ulquiorra thought for a moment. "If I know Washington," he blinked slowly, "cold, cloudy, and more than likely raining."

"And you grew up there?"

"I did."

"Oh, well, that makes perfect sense, then." Orihime poked his arm. "That pale skin of yours, I mean. Though I still have my suspicions that you might be a vampire, and if popular culture is anything to go by, I'm even more convinced now," she rattled on, her back to the small window.

Ulquiorra chuckled. "Ms. Inoue, are you that scared?" he asked as the plane made a sharp turn.

"No," she squeaked when all of the sudden the engines began to whine, then roar as they pulled forward at an increasing speed. "Maybe!" Orihime cried over the noise, her gray eyes locking onto the window. They were passing other planes, the entire length of the airport left behind in their dust. She clutched the armrests hard enough for her knuckles to go white, and whimpered when the back end of the plane dipped and the scenery tilted at an odd angle, the ground now below them and getting farther every second. Cars, houses, and buildings shrank to dollhouse size, then even smaller until she could see the entire city splayed out before her.

The city that had imprisoned her for her entire life; the city where Momo probably sat in school, daydreaming about her mysterious older boyfriend; where Rangiku probably reclined in her office chair, lost in thought; where Ichigo and Tatsuki, Chad and Rukia and her fiancé were probably enjoying lunch together; where Nel and Szayel were probably gossiping about the other residents of Las Noches and, hopefully, Gin sat stewing in his own misery. Then the plane tilted to the left and the city rolled out of view, replaced by the endless expanse of blue sky.

She was headed towards the unknown, she thought, much like she had been when she first showed up on Ulquiorra's doorstep asking for a place to stay. Whereas back then he'd held his door open for her, now she became aware of the fact that, despite her rude refusal, he'd put his hand over hers anyway. It was a simple gesture, but it helped melt her fear. And so, once the plane had righted itself above the clouds, she moved the armrest out of the way, placed her head on his shoulder and fell fast asleep, breathing in his comforting scent.

…

Orihime woke up towards the end of the in-flight movie. She'd been having the strangest dream; it followed the story of Ulquiorra's Italian opera, only he was the demon, with two large black wings, a hole in his chest where his heart should have been – which she actually found rather funny – two sharp horns and lines like tear streaks going down his cheeks. The villagers who came after him were faceless bodies with cameras and microphones rather than weapons, which had somehow killed him while she, the princess, struggled to find out why he'd become a demon in the first place. She was almost relieved to find him sitting next to her, perfectly human and not-so-dead. "God, how long have I been out?" she muttered, noticing that the window next to her had been closed.

Ulquiorra rubbed his stiff shoulder. "Close to the entire flight." He could have woken her up sooner, and was still wondering why he hadn't when the captain came on to announce that they were passing a mountain range. Orihime pried the window open and gasped. The flat land below them had changed completely, and she now found herself staring down at a snowy peak, the rest of the mountain hidden by a thick cloud cover. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

"Wow…" she whispered. And she'd thought Las Noches was the top of the world. She turned to Ulquiorra, her face flushed with excitement. "How much longer until we land?"

"Probably no more than thirty minutes," he answered, looking away from her. The plane had remained still, but as he'd stared down at her wide grey eyes, her rosy cheeks, her smiling lips and the slightly disheveled red hair that framed her enthusiastic countenance, he couldn't help feeling like something had been shaken. Earlier, he'd felt guilty for taking her along on this trip to be used as his verbal punching bag. Now the guilt had returned, but for another reason entirely; a reason that he had once deemed trivial, unimportant. If she had found out weeks ago, he wouldn't have cared. What had changed since the end of August? Why were the lines of his flawless reasoning suddenly blurring?

It was nothing, he thought sternly. He was just stressed. It had been a long day, and he was seriously lacking sleep. Once they got back to Las Noches, things would return to normal. He wouldn't care anymore… and he hated how hard he had to try to convince himself that it was true.

Within the next few minutes, Orihime felt the plane beginning to descend. She yawned continuously to clear the pressure in her ears, and when that no longer worked, she dug into her purse for a stick of chewing gum. Her breath probably needed some freshening anyway. She looked out the window again. All she could see now were clouds, which caused a nice round of turbulence as the plane slowly dropped out of the sky. Thankfully her nerves had steadied enough for her to enjoy the weightless feeling in her stomach.

Soon the plane broke free of the clouds and Orihime saw deep green forests below, occasionally punctuated by towns and cities. On the horizon, she saw the dark blue waters of the Pacific as they came together in the Puget Sound, then the plane turned again and cut off her view. When she looked out of the windows on the other side of the aisle, she could see a chain of mountains partially hidden by a multitude of clouds. It was gorgeous, but the gloomy climate made it somewhat depressing.

Perfect weather for a funeral, she supposed. She noticed that Ulquiorra had gone very quiet; he didn't even try to make jokes about her being scared of the landing process. He merely stared straight ahead, drumming his fingers against his knee.

The plane's engines whined again. It seemed almost like they were picking up speed as they grew closer to the ground below. She could see things better now; roads, cars, the well-defined pine trees, buildings and bridges spanning across calm waters. She caught a brief glimpse of downtown Seattle as the plane turned, dropping even lower, turbulence rattling the wings as they attempted to steady themselves. Okay, maybe she was a little worried. Was all this shaking normal? Ulquiorra seemed hardly bothered by it, so she tried to put on a brave face. The buildings were coming into focus, cars moving at a more regular velocity as opposed to the sluggish crawl they appeared to be doing from a higher standpoint. And soon she could see people, still ant-sized but getting bigger by the second.

Orihime leaned back against her seat as the plane made another quick turn, then straightened, and now things were even closer than before. Within seconds they were almost level with the pine trees, which gave way to reveal the runway below them. And just when she was about to say something, the wheels connected with the ground and the entire plane jolted, the cabin filling with a load roar as it slowed to a pace that a child could have outrun. The captain came back on and welcomed them to Seattle. It was one o'clock in the afternoon – Orihime could have sworn it was much later – overcast, fifty-two degrees.

"Not bad for October," Ulquiorra said quietly without breaking his gaze from the seat in front of him. Then he cracked a pinched smile. "You survived your first flight."

"Yeah." Orihime made no effort to hide her concerned look. Sure she was fine, but would _he _be able to survive the next few days? As soon as the captain announced that electronic devices could be used, she turned on her phone and found a handful of missed text messages: Rangiku asking her to bring back a souvenir, Nel giving her advice to avoid motion sickness on the plane, an enraged Chizuru demanding to know why Ulquiorra had dragged her across the country, and a concerned Momo asking if everything was alright. She breezily replied to all of them, as the plane had docked in its gate and everyone was starting to get up.

Orihime was expecting there to be a mob of reporters at the airport who'd caught wind that Ulquiorra would be arriving, but even as they waited at baggage claim, things were relatively peaceful. Had he no friends to come and welcome him? It was almost a little sad. But Ulquiorra looked more relieved than anything else, so Orihime supposed she should feel the same way.

They took the airport shuttle to the rental car lot, where Ulquiorra was handed the keys to a black Hyundai sedan big enough for just them and their few pieces of luggage. As soon as they were both inside, he turned on the radio, paused in thought, then effortlessly found a classical music station. "How do you feel, Ms. Inoue? Do you want to stop for food before we go?"

"No, that's alright." Orihime wasn't about to prolong this for him. If they went and got something to eat, he would probably throw it up, as she'd noticed that the tremors in his hands had started up again. "I can wait."

Ulquiorra steered the car to the end of the rental lot. "I was afraid you would say that."

The ride was mostly tense and silent save for the music coming from the radio. As they passed downtown Seattle's skyscrapers, the water behind the city glittering in the pale sunlight that came through the cloud cover, Orihime grabbed a picture of the scenery with her phone's camera and sent it to Chizuru. Maybe that would calm her down; the poor woman was still throwing a fit over the impromptu trip.

In the meantime, Orihime was absolutely enchanted by the view. Evergreen trees, houses and apartment buildings set on steep hills overlooking calm bodies of dark blue waters where boats and buoys floated and seagulls hunted for an afternoon meal. The traffic kind of sucked – where _didn't_ that happen? – and the clouds were seriously dismal, but the entire effect was delightful. Her face was practically glued to the window, even after the city had faded behind them and the forests stretched on for miles. In less than an hour they came upon another city situated over a body of water, and here it was raining, but only in a steady drizzle. "What's this place?" she asked Ulquiorra, who concentrated on the road ahead.

"Tacoma," he said, sparing her a quick look, "are you sure you don't want to stop for food?"

"Yes, I'm positive." Orihime ignored her growling stomach. She was doing this for his own good, she hoped. They passed a mall, a two-story music store that Ulquiorra stared at a bit longingly as they drove by, and several shopping centers before he got off the highway and began to navigate a series of winding roads that led deeper and deeper into the surrounding Tacoma area. Eventually they came upon Lakewood, driving past a big town center, gated communities of mansions hidden among tall pines and smaller, more dilapidated homes and strip malls, and a number of schools.

"We're almost there," Ulquiorra said with a heavy sigh. They drove down a sloping hill and, as they paused at a red stoplight, he pointed ahead. "There's the high school I graduated from."

Orihime leaned forward and saw the school's sign just across the street. "It doesn't look very big," she noted, taking in the building itself. Her own high school had been at least three times as big as that one.

"It's not." The light flashed green and he turned to the left, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel nervously as they drove past several apartment complexes, into a winding forest path that had to have been the most amazing thing Orihime had seen yet. The leaves on every tree were yellow, red, and orange; on fire with the colors of autumn, and the road they drove on was littered with them. It was almost like looking through a kaleidoscope. A sharp turn or two later, the forest ended, and Orihime found that they were on a hill overlooking what appeared to be a lake. The entire town, in fact, was situated on that hill. It was such a quaint setting; one of those sleepy towns that old people reminisced about and award winning romance novels took place in. No two houses were exactly alike, and some sported apple trees in their yards. Down at the bottom of the hill she saw a ferry carrying cars and passengers across the water to a nearby island. "You like it?" Ulquiorra's voice caught her attention, but just barely.

"Like it? This place is breath-taking." Orihime placed her hand against the cold glass window. "We aren't still in Lakewood, are we?"

"No, this is Steilacoom," Ulquiorra said as they drove slowly past the homes and small businesses. "I lived here three years after the Ingrams adopted me."

She turned to look at him. "So one of these houses is yours?"

"Not quite." They reached the road that came to an end at the dock and turned again, heading uphill now. There was a long stretch ahead, with tall, imposing pine trees sporting thick trunks forming a deep forest as far as the eye could see. But Ulquiorra turned onto another road before they could be swallowed by the wood, one that led straight into a gated community of houses much like the ones on the north side of the city that Orihime never ventured into. Overcome with anxiety, she pressed herself into the car seat, closing her eyes and wishing she could disappear. She tried to maintain the optimism that perhaps Ulquiorra had gotten lost – after all, he hadn't been there in six years, if she wasn't mistaken – but soon he pulled the car over by the curb of an enormous brick house with a million windows, a large garage, and a lush green lawn. It was right on the end of the street, and must have had a picturesque view of the bay behind it.

Neither of the two made a move to get out of the car. They both sat staring with a building sense of dread at the hand-painted mailbox with the name _Ingram _written neatly on its side. Ulquiorra looked like he was going to be sick. Orihime swallowed the growing lump in her throat. Somehow, a lowly prostitute like her had ended up in a high class neighborhood.

She wasn't sure, but she could have sworn she heard fate laughing at her.

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Next Chapter: Orihime meets Ulquiorra's adopted family, and finally understands why he stopped playing the piano…


	15. Family Matters

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bleach!

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Family Matters**

It took five minutes for Ulquiorra to work up the nerve to get out of the car, leaving the warmth of the enclosed space for the cold of the outside world. Orihime followed suit, not wanting to be left alone like a child waiting for its mother at the grocery store. She hurriedly shuffled up the walk behind him. It would have been nice if she could coach him, say something soothing and inspiring, but as she stared at his straight back, her mind drew a blank and her mouth dried despite the drizzle that had started up around them. After all, what was _she _going to say when she met Ulquiorra's family?

Another minute of pacing in front of the door passed before Ulquiorra finally lifted his shaking hand and pressed the doorbell. They both jumped when a chorus of high-pitched barks and howling struck up inside the house. This went on for ten seconds, twenty seconds, a full minute. But surprisingly, no one came to answer, or shut the dogs up for that matter. Ulquiorra let out a barely audible sigh and dug into his pocket for his keys. Orihime watched as he went through the small ring – apartment key, mail key, two different car keys for his own and the rental – and selected a big silver one that she had never seen him use. It fit into the house's goldenrod doorknob perfectly. "You'd think they would have changed the locks," he muttered, twisting the knob and hesitating only slightly before pushing the door open.

Of course they wouldn't have changed the locks, Orihime thought, if they had been waiting for him to come home all this time.

Immediately, three furry bodies came running towards him, a mass of barks and yips, clacking nails and wagging tails, slipping and skidding on the smooth floor. Ulquiorra held out his hand and the dogs – a gray terrier, a Pomeranian, and a Siberian husky with one blue and one yellow eye – came to a halt, their butts wiggling with joy. "Sit," he told them calmly, and they obeyed, looking up at him expectantly. Then he half-turned and motioned for Orihime to enter, as she had stayed outside for fear of being tackled or bitten. The Pomeranian barked once, but a stern glare from Ulquiorra silenced it. "Sorry about them." He pointed out the husky, "Andante," the Pomeranian, "Allegro," and then the terrier, "and Caprice."

"They're cute!" Orihime squeaked, reaching out tentatively to pet the husky but withdrawing her hand quickly when it was licked. "Err…"

"Relax. They're friendly," Ulquiorra said before crouching down and receiving the combined affection of all three dogs as they lost their restraint and all but pushed him over. "Aren't you?" he told them, being sure to give each enough attention to hold them over for a while. "Not the brightest bulbs in the box, but you're good dogs." Then he looked around briefly before turning back to the happy canines. "Where are Largo and Forte?" he asked. The husky whined pitifully and ran off, which of course prompted the smaller two to follow. They didn't go very far; the three skidded into the living room and lay down at the foot of an empty chair, resting their heads on their paws and looking morose. Orihime felt a stab of pain in her heart. Of course. Animals always suffered when their owners were gone.

Ulquiorra stood and wiped his thoroughly licked hands on his pants. "Remind me to wash these before I touch anyone," he said to her, and she nodded, deciding to observe her surroundings. They were standing in a large, open living space. To their left was an entertainment area with nicely matched and impeccably clean furniture, and as Orihime had expected, a beautiful black piano in the corner of the room. Just beyond that lay an enormous kitchen fitted with modern appliances and an island in the center, followed by a wall of tall windows that framed a postcard-worthy view of the Sound. To their right was a staircase that curved up into the second floor of the house; a long hallway with a large, intricately designed tapestry hanging in the center was all that Orihime could see from their standing point. Ulquiorra was already making his way toward a small guest bathroom between the living room and kitchen, and Orihime worried that someone would find her standing alone while he washed his hands so she joined him just outside the door.

"Is anybody home?" she whispered, paranoid.

Ulquiorra dried his hands on a small towel hanging from a ring on the wall. "The lights were on, so they should be. They're probably out back." And now he looked slightly sick again, but seeing the dogs must have made him feel a little better because at least he wasn't staggering around like a drunk. Orihime had recognized them from the picture she'd found in the filing cabinet. But where _were _the other two? Ulquiorra seemed worried. He came out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him. "I guess it would be rude of us to leave without saying hello."

"Ulquiorra?" a feminine voice inquired.

Orihime looked up at him in time to see the Oh Shit expression on his face, and guessed that the raven-haired woman that had just come in from the backyard was _not _family. He barely had time to turn around before her two tan arms had clamped around his torso, delicately manicured fingers clutching at his shirt, a wave of perfume wafting in her wake. Both of _his _arms, however, were out at his sides, locked at awkward angles and making no move to return the embrace as the natural beauty looked up at him with tearful blue eyes, speaking Italian at a mile a minute. Even more of a shocker was when he opened his mouth and responded in kind.

It was like stumbling into an alternate universe, Orihime thought. Since when did Ulquiorra know how to speak Italian? And fluently, by the sound of it? She must have been giving him a What the Fuck glare, because the finely dressed woman finally noticed her, blinking her mascara-caked eyes. And then, perhaps the strangest thing of all, Orihime realized that she recognized the Italian beauty. "Who is that?" the woman asked in a thick accent, pulling away from Ulquiorra.

"Orihime Inoue," Orihime answered, not much appreciating being referred to as a "that" but walking forward and holding out her hand politely anyway. "And you're Natalia Moretti, the opera singer," she said as the woman shook her hand. Yes, she had seen a photo of her online while she'd been looking for the lyrics to Ulquiorra's Italian opera. Of course, back when the picture had been taken Natalia was only fourteen years old. Now, she still had the same flowing black locks, the clear blue eyes, the straight nose and high cheekbones. And there Orihime was, surprisingly calm as she stood face to face with the Princess of the opera herself, the one who had risen to unprecedented stardom after her haunting aria had brought audiences to tears alongside Ulquiorra's sad piano piece.

"It is nice to meet you." Natalia leaned forward and kissed both of Orihime's cheeks – thank goodness she'd gotten used to such greetings after spending so much time with Nel. "You are a friend of Ulquiorra's?" Her head cocked to the side in honest curiosity.

"Oh, yes, _just _friends," Orihime was quick to say, though she wasn't exactly sure why. But the sound of the back door sliding shut alerted her that the three were now joined by a fourth party. An elegant woman with short, graying hair and a fairly small amount of wrinkles stepped into view. She wore the expression and carried the posture of one who was in a great deal of pain and trying her hardest to hide it: watery and slightly red-rimmed brown eyes, a tired face, stooped shoulders... but a head lifted high with pride.

"Ulquiorra," she said gently, her gaze glossy as she tried to smile through trembling lips. "Welcome home, sweetheart." Her voice was gentle and motherly, yet filled with an excitement that was desperate to show through.

Ulquiorra lowered his head. "It's good to be back." It didn't take an expert to tell that he was lying, but Orihime seemed to be the only one who noticed the hollow quality of his words. She also saw that he couldn't quite look at the older woman, who she supposed was his adoptive mother; his green eyes were pinched, his own shoulders sagging as if all the guilt in the world had fallen onto his back. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner."

The woman reached out and touched his cheek gingerly. "Oh, it's a good thing you didn't. We almost had to turn the dogs on those nosy reporters this morning," she said, as if being hounded by paparazzi were a normal, everyday occurrence. "They've been swarming ever since…" And here she took a deep breath to steady her words, "…since Lowell passed away." Then she tried to smile again. "They must have figured that you wouldn't miss your father's funeral, and what with Natalia being here as well…"

"It is my fault," Natalia said sadly, taking one of Ulquiorra's hands in both of her own and gazing up at him earnestly, "I tried to come as quietly as I could, but you know the press. Won't you please forgive me?"

Mrs. Ingram noticed Orihime and made no effort to hide her surprise at seeing another woman there. She broke away from the musical pair, her smile widening. "Hello, and who might this be?"

Orihime's mouth flopped uselessly. What was she supposed to say? This woman seemed so kind, so hurt, so honest; the epitome of everyone's favorite widowed grandmother. _Hi, my name is Orihime. I'm a prostitute that your son happened to pick up off of the streets a little while ago. I would say that he's taking good care of me, but half the time I'm not so sure. I think he's a sadist, and a vampire – possibly both – which causes him to be very passive-aggressive towards me. But it's so nice to finally meet you._ She knew that was what she _should _have said – or shouldn't have, depending on how one looked at the situation – but in the end, she could only smile and shake Mrs. Ingram's hand, laughing nervously. "Awfully shy, aren't you?" the older woman said with a hint of playfulness that Orihime knew too well.

They may not have shared the same blood, but obviously this lady had rubbed off on her adoptive son.

"That is Ms. Inoue," Natalia answered, as if she had known Orihime her entire life. "She is a friend of Ulquiorra's," and then she looked back at him, her face like that of the dogs when they had sat obediently, waiting to be praised.

"Oh!" Mrs. Ingram blinked. "Are you a musician, too?"

Ulquiorra snorted, the first display of humor he'd shown in hours. But at his mother's questioning look, he shook his head and moved away from Natalia, choosing to stand next to Orihime. "Ms. Inoue is unfortunately tone deaf," and the two women stared at her sympathetically, as if he'd said that she was dying of a terminal illness. "She's here for moral support."

"How sweet," Mrs. Ingram seemed truly pleased by this, and with a sudden flutter of her hands she turned back towards the kitchen, then paused, and finally looked at Ulquiorra. "Hold on a minute, sweetie. Let me get Matthew and Sarah. They were here a moment ago, but I think they might have gone into town to fetch something for dinner…" And then she was gone, the sound of the sliding door alerting them to her exit. Orihime leaned a bit closer to Ulquiorra.

"Who are Matthew and Sarah?"

"My siblings," he answered bluntly.

Natalia stood staring off in the direction Mrs. Ingram had gone in, then she focused on the two standing somewhat close together. "I suppose they have not told you, Ulquiorra?"

"Told me what?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Orihime could see the tremors still jolting his fingers and knew that whatever the Italian woman was about to say was not going to make things any better. Sure enough, Natalia crossed her arms over her chest and dropped a bomb:

"Everyone is expecting you to play at the funeral."

"_What_?" Ulquiorra snapped, stepping closer to her. Orihime had a sudden flashback to the day that he'd lost his temper and punched the wall. Her heart fluttered with panic.

Natalia didn't seem all that concerned for her safety, however. "I am merely repeating what I've heard. Apparently it was dictated in your father's will. He knew you so well, didn't he; that he should predict your appearance at his funeral and ask for such a thing as his dying wish?" She scowled. "Furthermore, if you think I am merely here to say good-bye to my dear friend, then you are sadly mistaken." The woman took two steps forward, effectively closing the distance between them. "The record company is under new management. If they would drag me out of Italy to speak to me about a show that ended two years ago, certainly they will want to see you, too."

"Why would you tell me this _now_?"

"I am just trying to keep you from making a scene in front of your family."

Ulquiorra said nothing. His narrowed eyes, his rigid posture, the now quite visible tremors traveling through his clenched fists… he was one more piece of bad news away from a meltdown. Orihime didn't know what was going on. She _hated _being left in the dark, especially when Ulquiorra was so clearly distressed. So in that moment, she did the only thing she could do: she tore away from them, into the living room, and ran right past the dogs.

The dogs were unable to pass up the chase. They scrambled to their feet, barking up a storm, and pursued Orihime around the downstairs portion of the house. She squealed loudly, half-scared, half-exhilarated, but the noise was enough to break the tension between Ulquiorra and Natalia. When they passed him, he blinked in surprise, his anger replaced by confusion. "Ms. Inoue, what are you doing?"

"Call them off!" she cried, running past him again. Ulquiorra put his leg in front of the dogs and they came to a quick halt, amassing around him and Natalia, wriggling happily. Natalia cooed and picked up the Pomeranian and the terrier, speaking to them in affectionate Italian.

Orihime came back to Ulquiorra's side, panting. "Phew! What was that all about, huh?"

Ulquiorra knew exactly what it had been about; Orihime was as subtle as a skyscraper in the middle of the desert. She'd been trying to distract him, and it had certainly worked. But even with his temper having dropped significantly at the amusing display, he had something new to process: He was expected to play at Lowell Ingram's funeral. Most people would have been honored. He knew plenty of other singers and musicians who would be more than happy and willing to do it.

He was not.

…

Ulquiorra's older brother Matthew was not a musician. He took an instant liking to Orihime when they repeated the lie of her tone-deaflessness over dinner, which made her feel a little bad. On the other hand, his younger sister Sarah was a violinist for the Seattle Symphony and doing rather well for herself because of it. Together, the two were almost as animated as Nel, which gave Ulquiorra something in common with Orihime when he was placed between them. He tended to shrink away from their antics, only coming into the conversation to passively agree with Natalia and Sarah on the importance of music in _everyone's _life, to which Matthew countered that he wasn't saying he hated music, just didn't think that a talent for it was a necessity. Mrs. Ingram was at the head of the table, watching the argument with a sad smile and ignoring the dogs, who sat around her waiting patiently for scraps. The subject of the funeral performance was not brought up.

When it was all said and done, she insisted that Ulquiorra cancel his hotel reservation and stay at the house instead – Orihime was surprised that he'd even gotten one. "Yes, that is a wonderful idea!" Natalia cried, clasping Orihime's hand. "You can stay in the guest room with me! We will be good friends, yes?"

"It'd be just like old times," Matthew slung an arm over Ulquiorra's shoulder, "only with Natalia here. But I guess that makes things better for you, huh bro?"

"Please," Natalia giggled, "I am not even remotely interested in Ulquiorra." She winked conspiratorially at Orihime. "In case you were worried."

"W-What?" Orihime's face flamed, warmth spreading all the way to her ears. Everyone was looking at her now, except for Ulquiorra himself, who was waving a piece of chicken in front of the dogs enticingly. "Oh, no! Things aren't like that between us. Not at all! I'm _really_ just here for the moral support." She waved her hands rapidly, wishing that he would back her up, but he had just lifted his arm in time to avoid being bitten by Allegro.

"Stop antagonizing them, Ulquiorra," Mrs. Ingram chided him gently. "You used to do the same thing to Largo and Forte. Spoiled those dogs rotten."

Ulquiorra straightened, again just barely managing to save his fingers from Caprice's snapping jaws. "Ah, yes. I take it from their absence that Largo and Forte are no longer with us." He ate the piece of chicken himself, causing Allegro to yip in complaint. "Would anyone like to fill me in as to what happened to them?"

Sarah shrugged. "Largo was old. And you know he and Forte were really close. Once he was gone, she pretty much laid around the house until she gave up and went with him." Her explanation was emotionally detached, but the sadness on her face was apparent.

"Oh." Ulquiorra pushed what was left of his dinner around with his fork.

Orihime stared down at her plate, feeling sorry for him. She would hate to go anywhere only to come home and find that two of her pets had died. But she was secretly glad that this conversation was keeping the attention off of her. So far, the only questions she'd had to answer were how she had met Ulquiorra – at work – and how long they had known each other, because she seemed to know him rather well – three years. It was a load of bullshit, but he'd been giving her a look that suggested she be on her best behavior. Still, it had been surprising to be told by his own mother that she acted so familiar with him. She wasn't sure whether that was a cause for concern or not.

Once dinner had ended, Orihime allowed herself to be taken on a tour of the house by Sarah while Ulquiorra went with Matthew to get the luggage out of the car. It had been new when they'd moved into it shortly after Ulquiorra had been adopted. Apparently, when there were less clouds in the sky, snow-capped peaks were visible across the water. It had five bedrooms and a second family room upstairs. Orihime felt awkward having to keep up her little white lie for the friendly girl who, she learned, was only a year older than her. What would his nice family say if they found out the truth about her and Ulquiorra's strange relationship… whatever the truth was? There was still no logical explanation as to why he'd taken her in, as much as she was coming to realize how grateful she was for it. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was an orphan. He'd once been on his own and therefore felt a need to take in strays, like the five dogs.

"I bet you're just dying to see Ulquiorra's room, huh?" Sarah said with a grin, interrupting her thoughts. She must have been a mind reader. Orihime nodded quickly, allowing the girl to drag her down the hall until they reached a door to a room on the bay side of the house. Maybe here she would find the coffin in the darkness, or the Bat Cave!

But when the door came open, Orihime was once again disappointed to find a normal bedroom. The wall to her right was lined with distinguished awards and glistening trophies, probably from the classical music world. Aside from that, it wasn't much different from his apartment; impossibly clean, quiet, peaceful. The bed was made, the curtains were parted slightly to reveal a view of the water in the distance… oh, what were those? Orihime walked forward and examined the frames that had been hung around the window. She recognized Ulquiorra's handwriting, though it was a bit different than the current, and realized that she was looking at the original copies of all of his compositions. Unable to help herself, she reached out and placed her fingers against the glass of the very last frame. _Nihilism_. A morbid, yet fitting title, she thought.

"What are you two doing in here?"

They both whirled around to find Ulquiorra standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets. His gaze landed on Orihime, and for some reason she had to look away, feeling guilty… like she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't have. But Sarah merely laughed and waved her hand dismissively. "Your friend was curious, so I showed her around! Don't sweat it."

"I don't," Ulquiorra answered, his gaze still fixed on Orihime. "Now if you're both quite done, we've been summoned to the funeral home. It's supposed to be closed, but Matthew said that they're holding it open for us to go in without needing to worry about all the publicity." He picked up his luggage and brought it into the room, setting it on the bed, then immediately smoothed out the creases it had left on the comforter. "Shall we?"

Sarah sighed. "I think I'll pass." She gave them both a tight smile. "There's only so much you can take, right?"

Orihime remembered the pain of her brother's death, the unbearable sorrow that had filled her body as she'd stared at his still form, the immense volume of alcohol she had fed her bottomless stomach that should have killed her. She wasn't sure she could step into another funeral home, but she would do it for Ulquiorra's sake, at the very least.

…

It was a short, quiet drive. Orihime felt that she should keep her mouth shut, as Ulquiorra didn't seem too happy with her, or just pissed off in general. She was sure that Natalia's words were still repeating themselves within his mind. They drove to Lakewood, where the funeral home was located. The parking lot was empty save for one car, probably that of the owner, who welcomed them with a sympathetic smile.

Ulquiorra didn't hesitate to go inside. His face betrayed nothing, not even anger, as he stepped into the long room filled with vacant pews all turned in the direction of the open casket ahead. His steps didn't slow in the slightest as he walked straight down the aisle and finally came to stop in front of Lowell Ingram's body. It was so strange. Orihime wasn't sure what she had been expecting. Tears, maybe? That didn't seem like Ulquiorra's style. A personal goodbye? A short burst of fury? Something, anything would have been better than the eerie silence that settled over him as he stared at the man who had brought him into his family, laying in his eternal rest.

Gathering up her courage, Orihime joined him at the front of the room, uttering a quick, mental prayer for the departed soul. Then she put on her tough face and looked up at Ulquiorra. "Well? Aren't you going to say something?"

Ulquiorra didn't look back at her. He hardly seemed to breathe. For a moment, it was as if he had simply turned into stone. And then, when he opened his mouth to speak, his response sent a chill down her spine. "Why should I?" His voice was icy, flat, the words spoken with no emotion whatsoever. He was done. Just like the last piece he had composed before dropping off the face of the earth.

Orihime knew. She looked at his retreating back and finally understood; that had to be it. She just _knew_. The reason Ulquiorra Schiffer had lost his inspiration, the reason he had grown to resent the only thing he'd ever truly loved, was the man lying dead in that coffin.

**To be Continued**

**A/N: **Next Chapter: Emotions run high, Orihime reaches her breaking point, and Ulquiorra has a "moment of insanity" in the rain…


	16. The Used and The Abused

**A/N: **Welcome to Chapter 16! Let me start off by saying that I hate, hate, _hate _having OCs thrown into any work of fan fiction. I really do. Having to do it is making me rage, but I dug my own grave when I thought to take Muse in this direction, and so I must take responsibility and make Ulquiorra's adoptive family as likable as possible.

**Warnings: **There is a lot of profanity in this chapter, and other things that all of you will like.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach!

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**The Used and The Abused**

Orihime could not sleep. It might have had to do with the fact that the dogs were awake and she could hear their collar tags jingling from somewhere within the house. It could have been the fact that the house was too big, and it made her paranoid that someone or something was lurking in the shadows. The room was stuffier than she was used to, the guest bed that she slept on like a sack full of fluff – as opposed to the lumpy sofa bed and Ulquiorra's perfectly firm-yet-pillowy mattress. Whatever the principle cause, it kept her silver eyes wide open and her mind going a mile a minute.

Ulquiorra harbored some sort of hatred for his adoptive father, which was kind of fucked up, considering all that the man had done for him. But that wasn't fair; she still didn't know the full story. What had happened between them? What could have made Ulquiorra – a man who was slow to wrath, no matter how violently he expressed it – write a piece like _Nihilism_, the musical embodiment of the hatred he had come to bear towards the piano?

A soft sigh interrupted her thought train. Orihime sat up in bed, noticing for the first time that Natalia wasn't asleep. The black-haired woman rested on a chair in the far corner of the room, her legs tucked beneath her, gazing out the window at the wet street below. "You could not sleep either, huh?" she said without turning.

"Not really. I think I may be lying on a pile of feathers."

Natalia laughed quietly. "You are funny, Ms. Inoue." She graced her with a look. "You seem strong, a good match for Ulquiorra. I was worried about him," her eyes lowered to the carpeted floor between them, "though he has made it clear that it is not my place to feel that way."

Orihime crossed her legs, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and her chin propped on her hands. "I thought you didn't like him like that," she said, ignoring the needle-prick of anxiety in her gut.

"I do not." Natalia smiled. "At least, not anymore. I am much smarter than I used to be." Orihime stared at her. "You don't believe me, do you?" She shook her head. "I didn't expect you to. Nobody does, especially those silly tabloid writers who seem determined to prod at old wounds." Natalia looked back out the window, as if she would find something on the street that she hadn't seen before. "Who could not fall for a boy who pulls you out of a recording studio and all but begs you to star in the lead role of his opera, insisting that no one else will do? Who could not be romanced by someone who plays the piano like him? But that's just it," she sighed, "the piano is _everything_. There is no Ulquiorra Ingram, no Ulquiorra Schiffer even… there is only music. And in his life, he will love nothing else. He never has."

The sad part of this was that Orihime agreed. In the time she'd spent with him, she had not failed to notice how he treated everything with a sense of mild distaste: his friends, his students, random strangers. The only thing that seemed immune to his scrutiny was his music; which was funny, because Orihime could have sworn that all artists were nit-picky and self-conscious.

"That idiot broke my heart," Natalia continued, but she didn't sound all that sad about it. "Which is a real shame. We could have made beautiful music together. But that was a long, long time ago."

"And why are you telling _me _this?"

"Because I can tell that you are a nice girl," Orihime tried not to scoff, "so I thought it should be fair to warn you before you are in too deep." Natalia's blue eyes held her gray, and then she burst into a fit of giggles. "Ah, but you should be fine, Ms. Inoue! After all, he has not played in six years. No siren song, no tears to shed."

"Thanks for the heads up, I guess," Orihime muttered uncertainly, deciding to try sleeping again. She must have been having some weird dream, she thought as she separated the comforter from the sheets and lay back under them. This broad couldn't have been _that _nutty. Tomorrow morning she would probably wake up to find that she'd imagined the whole conversation, that the Italian singer was perfectly sane. And if that wasn't the case, well, she was obviously still after Ulquiorra's goodies. Orihime smirked as she closed her eyes. _If he's into that sort of thing_...

…

When she woke up the next morning, the door to Ulquiorra's room was closed. Embarrassingly enough, she had slept in, and now crept down the hall to the bathroom for a shower, having heard voices downstairs as she passed. Today, she told herself as she grabbed a towel from the small linen closet across from the sink, was going to be devoted to finding out everything she could about Ulquiorra's past. Normally she wouldn't go about prying into someone else's business, but she was far too curious about the cold dismissal of his father's death to _not _go looking for answers. The tricky part was trying to get them with him around.

Her cell phone chimed and she sighed, grabbing it off of her neatly folded clothes. Nel might not have been aware of the fact that Orihime was now two time zones behind her, seeing as the first round of messages had come at around six, and had gone ignored until she'd come fully awake. But apparently, Nel had caught Grimmjow in bed with another woman that morning and had – according to Gin, who had texted Orihime to ask that she please try to calm Nel down – proceeded to wake up the entire building with her hysterical screaming. Orihime was almost sad that she had missed it. Of course, being one of Nel's closest friends, she now had to talk her out of committing homicide.

"_Don't worry, when I get back I'll personally kick his ass._" She sent the message before stepping into the shower. Unlike the too-soft bed, which had left a weird kink in her back, the water pressure was just right. She sighed blissfully. Currently, it was ten o'clock in Washington. That meant that the Ingram family were early risers, but she should have known that already, considering how Ulquiorra would almost always be gone when she woke up in the apartment.

And today, she discovered when she finished her shower and went downstairs, would not be any different. "He stepped out almost two hours ago with Mom and Natalia," Sarah informed her, holding out a cereal box for her. "Frosted Flakes?"

"Thanks." Orihime took it and paused, looking around for the bowls. Hmm… despite the fact that the location was constantly changing, where would she put the cereal bowls if she was Ulquiorra? It didn't help that there were a thousand cabinets and cupboards in this kitchen. She walked over to the one closest to the pantry and opened it. Sure enough, there they were. She smirked triumphantly. As she joined Sarah at the island, Allegro and Caprice gathered around her feet, trying to look as cute and puppyish as possible. "No," she told them sternly, "dogs can't have cereal." Their tails wagged hopefully. "No," she said again.

"Allegro, Caprice, stop bothering Orihime. Shoo!" Sarah waved them away and they scattered, going to bother Andante, probably. Orihime smiled. "Sorry about that. Did you sleep well?"

"Oh, yeah!" she lied. "Thanks again for your hospitality. I still feel really awkward, though. Intruding on this somber occasion." Welcoming strangers into their home; that was another Ulquiorra-esque quality. Orihime poured the cereal into the bowl and gratefully accepted the milk from Sarah, who slid it over to her across the counter. She savored a few bites before turning to the slightly older woman. "Say, can I ask a personal question?"

Sarah blinked in surprise. "Sure. What's up?"

Orihime stirred the sugary flakes, keeping her eyes downcast. "What was Ulquiorra like in the past? When you guys adopted him, I mean."

Sarah flashed her a knowing smile. "Hmm, where do I begin?" She rested her chin on her upturned palm. "Well, I was six years old when I met him for the first time. I can't remember much about that day. There was a talent competition or something going on. Mom and Dad decided to stay and watch for a while, since there would undoubtedly be musicians performing. Dad's record company was still pretty small back then."

"Wait, your father owns a record company?"

"You didn't know?" She frowned, then shrugged. "I'll be sure to give Ulquiorra a good whack upside the head for not telling you." Her index finger tapped against her chin in thought. "Let's see… that day, Ulquiorra played this gorgeous piece – I think it's on his first CD – but he was seven so it had no title. Either way, we could all tell that, oh my God, this kid was amazing, so Dad ran and made friends with the director of the orphanage who had brought Ulquiorra there. When he found out that this wasn't the first composition he'd done, he went to the orphanage the next day to listen to the others, and the rest is history." She smiled. "Ulquiorra brought a lot of good publicity to Dad's label. His pieces were so emotional, so advanced for someone his age that he was quickly named a musical prodigy. I don't think he knew what was going on, but the praise and attention made him happy. He always had this shy smile on his face.

"A few years later, while he was doing a performance in Italy – we had all gone along to support him – he saw Natalia singing opera onstage. Almost immediately, he tells Dad that he has an idea. 'But I need that girl,' he said. So Dad arranges for Ulquiorra to meet Natalia, and out of nowhere he asks her if she'll be the princess in his opera. 'What opera?' we were all thinking, but we knew by then not to doubt him when it came to music. He had it written in two weeks, showed it to Natalia, she sang a few lines and I swear there was this 'match made in heaven' angelic chorus in the background. We all thought they were going to get together."

"But they didn't," Orihime stated, remembering what the singer had told her.

Sarah shook her head. "Nope." She looked at Orihime. "It was kind of heartbreaking, really. Anyone could tell that she really cared about him. And they were like two peas in a pod the entire time. But once the opera had run its course, Ulquiorra basically said 'see ya later' and left her hanging. Can't say that I approved of that, but I was thirteen when it was all said and done, so I had hormones raging all over the place. How dare he deny true love like that, right?" She laughed. "Anyway, by now he'd become so close to our family that, after getting our opinion and approval, Dad asks Ulquiorra if he'd like to be a part of it."

"Aww." Orihime couldn't help the smile that lit up her face. She could only imagine how happy Ulquiorra must have been.

"It was pretty sweet. Dad bought this big house to accommodate us all; up until then we'd been living in Seattle. Ulquiorra was fifteen when he was adopted, so even though he'd known us for seven years he felt really awkward and was super polite. But Matthew and I managed to get him out of that." Sarah grinned, remembering some past mischief. "Anyway, he fit right in. We loved him, the dogs loved him, Mom and Dad loved him. We were one big happy family."

Orihime's brow furrowed. That didn't sound like what she was looking for. "Alright, but he left for a reason, right? He said he lost his inspiration."

"Oh." Sarah gazed out at the waters of the bay through the window. "That." She pursed her lips. "Things were great for a while, but I guess mixing business and family wasn't a very smart idea. I don't know all the details, but I do remember Dad fighting with Ulquiorra a lot over stupid record company stuff. It was pretty bad. Ulquiorra was so stressed that he got _really_ sick, couldn't hold anything down, missed a ton of school – hell, it was a miracle that he even graduated on time. He had to be hospitalized for a while because he just couldn't eat. And then his piano songs changed from the happy things to… well, his last two CDs." She sighed. "Mom was so worried about him. She tried to mediate, but in the end, it didn't work. After graduation, Ulquiorra said he was done with Dad, done with the stupid record company – my words; his were far more severe – and then he left."

Orihime stared down at her cereal, which by now had become too soggy for consumption. Sarah absently pet one of the dogs with her socked foot. "Mom cried for days. She fought with Dad to go find Ulquiorra and bring him back, even went out looking for him herself a few times. It almost destroyed their marriage. We tried to convince Ulquiorra to come home over the phone, but he wouldn't have it. He did apologize to us, Mom especially. Refused to speak to Dad. So when he changed his last name back to Schiffer, we didn't argue, we didn't try to stop him. We all knew by then that he wouldn't be the same as when he first came to live with us, anyway. That rift between him and Dad never healed."

"But what did he _do _to him?" Orihime asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Our guess, because even Matt and I aren't very sure, was that Dad used the fact that Ulquiorra was family to try and get more out of him than he might have wanted to produce." Sarah lowered her head, looking embarrassed. "I remember coming home one day that Ulquiorra had missed school due… and he was just sitting at the piano, staring at it with huge eyes, hands above the keys. Then he looked at me and said, _There's nothing. It's absolute silence. _And that was the last time I saw him at it, or anywhere near it for that matter."

Orihime let the information stew in her brain, ignoring another surely unreasonable text from Nel.

"_Why would parents force their expectations onto their children like that? Don't they know how that makes them feel?"_

She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath as that entire conversation replayed in her mind, the pale and bitter look on Ulquiorra's face as he'd spoken to her.

"_It makes us sick, makes us angry and hurt and hateful. How can we do that to the people we love?"_

She had seen the difference between the Ulquiorra in the photo with the dogs, and the Ulquiorra she knew now.

"_In the end, we could be hurting someone we care about, permanently scarring their hearts and warping their view of the world."_

She understood.

"_I left the piano behind in order to set myself free."_

But something was still bothering her.

The front door opened then, forcing her out of that day in the apartment as Mrs. Ingram and Natalia walked in. The older woman looked quite troubled, a lot older than she had the day before. Natalia merely looked annoyed. "Honestly," she was saying to Mrs. Ingram, "I don't know why they expected him to react any differently."

"Me either." The dogs ran to meet them, barking happily. Mrs. Ingram smiled and carefully stooped over to pet them. "But I was hoping he would change his mind about the funeral, at least."

"Hey Mom, Natalia," Sarah greeted them, "where's Ulquiorra?"

The Italian woman laughed haughtily. "He is sulking in one of his favorite places, of course." Then she looked over at Orihime. "In town, the small park at the bottom of the hill… in case you were wondering," she said innocently. How she knew so much about Ulquiorra when they had barely spoken in six years, Orihime wasn't sure, but she did know one thing: she needed to talk to him. Something was stirring in her heart, forming in her mind, determination driving her to thank Sarah for the uneaten cereal before making a hasty retreat.

Putting her jacket on, she tried to remember her way out of the neighborhood. It was a long walk, she knew, but the rental car was gone and she didn't have the keys to it anyway. Besides, the air outside was crisp and smelling of rain… rain? Shit. She glared up at the dark clouds rolling over the slightly less threatening ones. Couldn't it hold off for one damn day? No wonder Ulquiorra was so depressed. She put up her fur-lined hood before the downpour started, but once it did, it brought with it a chilling wind that would have made her turn around had she not already walked so far. She reached the entrance to the gated community with a relieved sigh. So far, so good.

She needed to go downhill. Her feet turned her in that direction, and in the distance she could see the dock and its ferry. As she walked, she got a strange sense that this gorgeous setting was Ulquiorra's rock bottom; a place he didn't want to be, but somehow ended up in anyway. Stupid rich pianist. He got this, she got gutters and ditches and alleys.

The wind suddenly changed direction, nearly blowing back her hood and slapping cold rain into her face. "Son of a bitch," she muttered, wiping her cheeks. Would she have done this for anyone else? Probably not, and that annoyed her. What made Ulquiorra so special? She hadn't been able to answer that when she had drunkenly found her way to his door, but now, she was starting to get an idea. She gasped loudly when her foot slipped on the wet ground and she almost lost her balance. _That was a close one_. Her nerves thoroughly jumbled, she walked more carefully, crossing the street when she saw no traffic coming.

All around the bay, people were running into houses and shops. They were used to the rain, she was sure, but maybe downpours like this didn't happen quite as frequently. The water fell in droves, covering the bay like a fine mist, making it hard to separate the earth from the sky. But Orihime pressed onwards, until she had reached the bottom of the hill and turned right just before the dock, now climbing a bit again as she went in the direction of the houses. Soon she came upon the rental car, which was parked beside a patch of emerald green grass that stretched outwards in a cliff that sported a stunning view of the lake. And there she found Ulquiorra, standing in the rain, nearly soaked to the bone. Didn't he realize that he could get sick? She was _not _going to take care of him.

"Hey!" she said over the rain, the wet grass sloshing beneath her feet and clinging to her boots as she approached him. "What did the record company want?"

"Same as always," Ulquiorra replied without looking at her, "money, which they are convinced they can get in exchange for what's left of my soul."

Orihime clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. "Borderline Shakespearean today, aren't we?"

"Did you walk all the way here?"

"I might have."And now she hesitated, but only for a moment. "Listen," she shuffled from one foot to the other, wishing her socks weren't damp, "I have something to say. You're probably not going to like it, either. Hell, you'll probably kick me out of the apartment as soon as we get back, but I really, _really _feel like I need to get this off my chest." He didn't try to stop her, so she took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I think you should play at the funeral."

Ulquiorra's jaw clenched, but other than that, there was no visible change in his expression. "You, too?"

"Yeah… me too."

An increasingly uncomfortable silence passed between them. The wind blew off Orihime's hood, but her hair was already mostly wet so she didn't bother putting it back up. She waited for Ulquiorra to tell her he would rather drop dead, jump off of that cliff ahead of them; to throw a tantrum like she could only suppose that he had in front of his mother, Natalia and the record company, judging by the looks on their faces. And for a moment, he looked like he really wanted to do so. But to her surprise, he let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping. "Why?" His eyes narrowed. "I don't owe that man anything."

"Bullshit you don't." Orihime scowled. "Whether he used you or not, he still got you out of that orphanage, didn't he?"

Ulquiorra looked at her. "You found out," he said, then laughed wryly. "Oh, right, I left you home alone with Sarah."

"You only have yourself to blame," Orihime said, then forced herself back on track. "Look, I'm not saying that you have to do this for _him_. He's dead. Wouldn't be able to hear you playing anyway. But who _is _going to be there? Your Mom, your brother and sister, Natalia… though I don't know what the fuck's going on between the two of you, but she's your friend, I guess." She wanted to add that she would be there as well, but she held off. Her presence didn't seem quite as important to him at the moment. "I'm sure that they want to hear you play. It would mean a lot to them. And is it really fair of you to make them suffer anymore than they already have?" She thought of Sora, what would have happened if he had found out that she had become a prostitute, after being forced to watch her take all of that abuse. What he must have thought of her now in whatever afterlife he'd gone to…

Ulquiorra shook his head. "It's not that easy."

"How is it not that easy?"

"It's just not."

Orihime felt her anger mounting. "Come on, now you're being unreasonable."

He turned to face her. "Are you not grasping the situation? Lowell Ingram _used me_ for money, of all the rotten things on this God forsaken planet." His green eyes bore into hers. "He led me to believe that we had some kind of bond. That life was going to be a golden ray of sunshine now that I had people to call family. And then he turned on me. He took away the most precious thing I had _for money_. Do you understand, woman? Is that getting through to you?"

Orihime did not appreciate being talked down to. Her rage had been building, every word striking nerve after nerve until finally her mind released the hounds. She felt the adrenaline wash over her, her vision going red with the heat of her frustration, and all of that energy concentrated itself into her hand until it demanded to be let go. One moment, Ulquiorra had been standing in front of her, and the next he was staggering back and falling heavily onto the wet grass. Her breathing unsteady, Orihime glared down at him, her body shaking, her knuckles and fingers throbbing in pain as she slowly unclenched them. She stood over him, taking in his wide-eyed expression as he held a hand to the side of his face that had just been acquainted with her fist.

"What I understand," she said, her voice wavering, "is that you're acting like a child. An ignorant, fucking spoiled _brat_." Forget restraint; she was fed up with his diva tantrums. "So you lost the ability to play your stupid little piano for a while thanks to your big, bad stepdad. _Big fucking whoop_. You want to talk about having something important taken away from you? My father – my _birth _father, mind you – he _raped me_." Tears stung her eyes, but she couldn't stop. "You spoke to me about luck, Ulquiorra. At least you could pack up and run from your problems! I couldn't! I was only seven years old, and I had to take that shit practically every day until the drunk bastard finally keeled over! You know what that did to me? You know what happens to a kid who's told every day that they'll never amount to anything, that they'll always be a _whore_? You _saw _me!" she screamed over the rain, her shoulders shaking. "You saw what I was! Drunk, suicidal, passed the fuck out and covered in my own vomit while you're sitting pretty in your fancy ass apartment, comfortable and clean and taken care of but acting like the fucking world is ending because you can't fucking play the piano!" Orihime pressed her palms against her eyes and turned around, stalking back towards the street. "_Damn it!_"

Ulquiorra scrambled to his feet. "Ms. Inoue," he nearly slipped in his hurry, but managed to right himself. "Ms. Inoue, wait…"

Orihime ignored him. She was out of a home for sure. She couldn't believe she had lost her temper like that. Well, yes she could. He'd had it coming. "Ms. Inoue," she felt him reach out for her and ripped her arm away from his grasp.

"Don't touch me!"

He grabbed both of her shoulders and turned her around sharply. "Ms. Inoue, are you crying-?" His heart nearly stopped at the sight of her. Her wet hair clung to her face, tears pouring from her eyes and snot from her nose as if there would be no end to it, as if some dam had burst and unleashed all of the pain she had kept hidden from the world, from their neighbors, from her brother, from _him_. And the anguished sobs that tore from her throat, as if she were physically hurting, folding in on herself like someone had just stabbed her in the gut…

She couldn't keep herself up anymore. Her knees buckled and, whether she wanted to or not, she fell against Ulquiorra's shoulder, crying and hating herself for it. She wasn't supposed to break down in front of anyone, _especially_ not him. Not some self-centered guy whose guts she often wished she could pull out through his ear and stomp on until they became mush.

But she must have abandoned that notion along with her self-control, because the moment she felt his arms wrap around her waist, supporting her against himself, she cried even harder. "Let me go…!" she sobbed, making no move to get away.

"I won't," Ulquiorra said quietly, and she heard it through his chest. "I refuse." He didn't think any less of her. Crying didn't make her weak; on the contrary, to be where she was now, as opposed to where she had been when he'd found her… she was selling herself short. How long had it been since she'd whined for a cigarette? When was the last time she had tried to use drinking to get away from her problems? Even if she insisted that she still needed him as her crutch, he was certain that if he kicked her out tomorrow, she could make it just fine on her own. She was a strong woman, whether she believed it or not.

But he was a selfish man. He'd brought her into his home for his own profit, but he was no longer trying to convince himself that he was so desperate to keep her for those same self-centered reasons. No, if he could be completely honest – but he wasn't – he could say that he was pretty sure that he didn't need her anymore… at least, not the way he thought he did.

"Let me go," she whispered, prompting him to tighten his grip.

"Never."

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: ** Next Chapter: The funeral. What will happen now that Ulquiorra has resolved to not let Orihime go? Click that button and find out….


	17. Silver Lining

**Disclaimer: **Not mine! -puts a tissue box or two on the table- Feel free. Depending on your level of emotional tolerance, you might need these. Mine is low.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Silver Lining**

Had it not been such a somber occasion, the Ingram family probably would have laughed. The pair must have been quite a sight: Orihime, her eyes red and puffy but dry, dressed in her short black gown that looked more like a spicy cocktail number than proper funeral attire, the fabric straining to keep her chest confined; and Ulquiorra, looking sharp in his black suit jacket and slacks, but sporting a colorful, amoeba-shaped bruise beneath his left eye where Orihime had socked him the day before. If there hadn't been a funeral to go to, if his family hadn't been in so much silent pain, she was certain that he would have spent the morning complaining about his aching jaw. The way he had eaten his breakfast slowly, carefully, and with the occasional wince had not escaped Orihime's eye.

But today was not a day to be making jokes, for several good reasons. First of all, somebody was dead. Secondly, that somebody's family and friends were gathered together, grieving. Third, the room was practically choked with reporters, who kept their heads bowed respectfully while discreetly scribbling notes on what everybody else was doing. And finally, perhaps the biggest reason – and the cause for much of the press's scribbling – was the fact that Ulquiorra was missing.

Sure, he'd been home that morning; Orihime had gotten a good laugh at his discolored cheek, which put her on his "ignored list" throughout breakfast, despite the fact that she'd been flinging bread crumbs at him the entire time. But after he'd dropped her off at the chapel where the funeral was to take place, he had driven off with the reassurance that he would be back in time for the food. She desperately hoped he was kidding, especially since he was not only expected to perform, but to say a few words as well. Orihime sat between Natalia and an older woman dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. People were beginning to notice Ulquiorra's absence. The reporters' writing hands moved more fervently as the time passed.

Eventually the pastor went up and began reciting scripture, then moved on to a brief recounting of Lowell Ingram's life. Orihime was too anxious to listen, so she filled in what she hadn't heard with what she knew of Abraham Lincoln: born in a log cabin, cut down a cherry tree, four score and seven years ago, yada yada yada… then she frowned, wondering if she was thinking of the right president.

She had just started thinking bad things about the current commander in chief when, very quietly, the back door creaked open. Her head, as well as that of several others – the poor pastor must have felt so unimportant – turned towards the sound. And sure enough, there was Ulquiorra, hands in his pockets and looking quite casual for someone who had just lost a father and mentor. If the scribbling hadn't been bad before, Orihime could practically hear pens scratching against paper over the speaker's voice. She gave him a Where-Have-You-Been look, which he responded to with an I'd-Tell-You-But-You-Laughed-At-My-Face-This-Morning look before making his way down the aisle and taking his place next to Sarah. Orihime saw Mrs. Ingram's head lower, her thin shoulders shaking, and smiled. The poor thing must have been worried.

Now she _really _wished she could be sitting next to a reporter, just to see what he or she would be writing about Ulquiorra. The Missing Pianist was there, in the flesh, with an apple-sized bruise making his face look like an alcohol-induced experiment in a cosmetics class. The tension in the air could have been neatly sliced and handed out for dessert. If cameras had been allowed inside, she was sure the gathered would have been blinded the instant he walked into the church.

The pastor went on undaunted. Either he had the patience of a saint or a really good poker face. Orihime tried to pay attention to The Life and Times of Lowell Ingram, but knowing what she did about his past with Ulquiorra, she sort of felt like she was at a propaganda rally. Besides, it was muggy in there, and for whatever reason there was no air conditioning. Sarah had tried to tell her that houses in Washington were generally built without central air conditioning units, on account of the consistently cold weather.

_I am never, ever living here_, she told herself firmly.

Orihime tried to picture somebody else in the coffin; not someone too close to her, or she would cry, but someone she would still be sad to see dead. Oh, there was Rukia's older brother Byakuya. He was so freaking sexy, she remembered. Losing a fine piece of eye candy like him would definitely be disappointing. Maybe they could put him in the coffin shirtless. Even better, in his boxers. Damn it, now she wanted to laugh.

"…a man who will always be loved, and always be missed," the pastor finished, and Orihime snapped out of her daydreams. The room was quiet save for the intermittent sniffles of the congregation and the rustling of fabric as the reporters, who glanced about with mild discomfort, squirmed among them. Then the pastor looked at Ulquiorra, and suddenly all of the attention in the room fell upon his back.

He stood reluctantly, then squared his shoulders and walked up to where the pastor was moving off to the side, making room for him. He stood behind the podium, then turned to face the crowd, who waited expectantly, rears at the end of their pews, pens poised above notebooks, fingers ready to hit play buttons on recording devices. Ulquiorra Schiffer, the man who had successfully vanished for six years, had finally come out of hiding. His green eyes, reflecting no emotion, settled upon Orihime, and for a moment she could have sworn she saw them soften.

"I was late, so I'll try not to bore you," he said to the assembled, though he may as well have been talking to Orihime alone. Then he looked away from her, his gaze sweeping over the room. "I learned something yesterday. It's funny, I'd always assumed that at this age, I was done learning, that nothing could surprise me anymore." He kept his voice low. "I'm honestly not the best person to come to for kind words about Lowell Ingram. If you were to ask me why I gave up the piano, I would point you in his direction and snidely comment that he could tell the story much better than I could. If you were to ask me for an opinion on him, you might need to censor my vocabulary. Because the truth of the matter is that this man hurt me far worse than anyone ever has, and probably ever could.

"What I learned yesterday, however, was that I had allowed that hurt to blind me to what was truly important." Ulquiorra paused, and the entire room seemed to lean a little closer. "He took away my inspiration, but he gave me something in exchange: a loving family. I could even go a step further and give him more credit than he deserves by saying that he was trying to get a message across; that I didn't need music to fill the void anymore. But unfortunately, I'm not that nice, nor would I ever believe such a fantasy to be true." The silence in the church was deafening.

"Lowell Ingram taught me that life was unfair. It will always be unfair. Not just to me, but to all of you as well. We will live out our days, constantly losing things, but fortunately gaining others in return." He looked at Orihime. "And often, the people that we care about the most will be the ones who let us down." He lowered his head. "It took a well-deserved hit to my pride, among other things, to realize what I had already known, but tried so desperately to deny. This being that, whether I wanted to or not, I had already become a lot like my father. That I had learned things from him; that I could resent him and I could change my name, but I could never change the fact that I was his son for much longer than the three years I spent with him and his family. And for that, I do owe him this last wish of his, if nothing else." He sighed. "Though we knew him as a stubborn character, I was told by my mother that he would always regret not being able to apologize to me in person." Ulquiorra lifted his head. "So I think it's safe to say that I'll always regret the fact that this is one composition of mine that he will never hear."

And without another word, he departed from the podium and sat at the church's piano. He hesitated for only a moment, his hands shaking visibly, and then he began to play.

It was beautiful, of course, but not what one would expect for a funeral. If anything, it carried a more optimistic sound. If Orihime could try to put it to words, she would describe the feeling one gets when the sun has come out after a storm; or on the first day of spring, with the snow melting, new leaves and flowers budding on every tree. When she closed her eyes, she could see what she imagined the Ingram family had once looked like, gathered around the piano in their living room and beaming proudly as Ulquiorra played for them a song of gratitude. But she could also see herself seated next to him on the bench the day of her 21st birthday, when she had become the only person to hear the first thing he had composed in six years.

It wouldn't be the last piece he ever wrote, Orihime knew, tears sliding down her cheeks before she could stop them. Next to her, Natalia had buried her face in her hands. All over the room, the reporters had stopped writing, unable to keep going through their misty eyes. In the front pew, Mrs. Ingram was caught in the embrace of both of her children, the sobs of the three making the piece even more heart-wrenching than it already was.

Once again, Ulquiorra had managed to bring an entire audience to tears. But as Orihime wiped her eyes and looked up at him, it wasn't sorrow, pain, or anguish that she saw on his face… it was the faintest hint of a smile. She knew why it was there; she could hear it as plain as day with every passing note; the reassurance that the storm of silence, his own personal winter, had come to an end, and he was going to be fine.

After six years of searching, Ulquiorra had finally found peace.

…

Lowell Ingram was buried on a rainy Washington day. Of itself, there was nothing special about that afternoon. The sun did not come out to comfort the beloved of the dearly departed. Orihime tried to stay out of everyone's way, especially when both reporters and crisp-looking record company executives swarmed around Ulquiorra like vultures. But there may as well have been a force field between them; they approached, but seldom confronted him. Those who were brave enough to do so were rewarded with a few words, none quite as personal as the speech he had given earlier, but it was a start.

By the end of the day they could be certain that, should Ulquiorra ever choose to get back into the spotlight, it wasn't going to be in the next six months. He didn't tell them where he'd been, what he'd been working on, who he'd associated himself with. When asked about the bruise, he called it a 'reality check,' and when asked about Orihime, he dismissed her as 'the help,' which she caused her to make a mental note to give him a matching bruise on his other cheek.

For the next few hours the large house was full of family and friends of the Ingrams, which included more celebrities than just Natalia. The dogs looked as if they would die of joy at the amount of hands willing to pet them. With all the noise and talking about a guy that she'd never met, Orihime felt both star-struck and a little overwhelmed. But just when she had decided to run upstairs and hide out in the guest room, Ulquiorra appeared from the crowd with a nonchalant expression and pressed a hand to the small of her back, guiding her away from everyone. "Come with me," he said.

"Wouldn't it look scandalous, you running off with The Help?" Orihime narrowed her eyes at him.

Ulquiorra shrugged. "They would have better luck finding romance elsewhere." Another faint smile touched his face, this one mischievous. "Besides, I feel like doing something impulsive."

"If you insist," Orihime grinned, wondering what 'impulsive' entailed. They slipped out of the open front door and down the walk, moving as hurriedly as they could to avoid getting _too _wet. Once in the rental car, Ulquiorra put the heater on full blast and carefully escaped the tightly packed cars lining the curb. He drove straight to Lakewood, and though he didn't say much, Orihime could tell that he was in good spirits. It was a little reassuring, but she sort of missed the mayhem. She decided to test the waters. "Hey Ulquiorra, you really like dogs. Why don't you keep one in Las Noches?"

"Are you kidding? I already have a pet dragon. The poor dog wouldn't stand a chance."

Ah, there he was. She had actually started worrying about Paco lately. "Oh, you," she said pleasantly, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Oh, _you_." And she began smacking him with increasing violence until he nearly swerved into oncoming traffic.

"Ms. Inoue, please, contain yourself. My mother doesn't need to bury me too." Ulquiorra slowed the car down and pulled into a small shopping center. "I might be a bit," he warned her as he found a parking space. "Will you be staying in here?"

Orihime was going to ask him where he was going when she caught sight of a local gift shop and remembered her promise to Rangiku. "No, I'll check out that store over there. I told my boss that I'd bring her a souvenir." She unbuckled her seatbelt and pushed the door open, glad that the rain had let up, though it was still plenty gloomy. Dodging several puddles, she looked back in time to see Ulquiorra disappear into a store on the opposite side of the way. She craned her neck but failed to notice what store it was. "Oh well." Her high heels clacked against the sidewalk as she approached the gift shop and, after letting an elderly woman come out, she slipped into the warmth. Tightly packed rows of t-shirts and Washington paraphernalia stretched before her. What was something that Rangiku could really appreciate?

She rolled her eyes, the answer glaringly obvious: a shot glass. Orihime found a handful of them and picked one with a picture of Mt. Rainier on it, which she had yet to see thanks to all of the clouds. Honestly, how could an enormous volcano remain hidden for so long? After browsing a while longer, she made her purchase, throwing in a postcard for herself, and left the store. By then Ulquiorra had also finished whatever he'd been doing, bringing down the rental Hyundai's trunk. "Find something you liked?" he asked her.

"Did you?" she countered.

Ulquiorra half-smiled. "Oh, yes, definitely." All in all, it had taken less than half an hour for them to roam their respective stores. Orihime showed him the postcard and shot glass as he drove them back to Steilacoom.

"I think Rangiku will definitely love this," she said, carefully enveloping the diminutive cup in its bubble wrap and putting it into the small box the cashier had placed it in. "Of course, this means that I'll have to go with her when she takes it for a test – " A scratching sound caught her attention. "What was that?" She looked up at Ulquiorra, whose eyes were fixed on the road ahead. "Did we just hit something?"

"Must have been an aluminum can," he said breezily.

"Oh."

"If you're going to get drunk with that woman, I suggest you take her to _her _home this time," Ulquiorra continued, turning on the windshield wipers as the rain started up again. "Because if I have to miss another night of sleep in my own bed…"

"You'll put me in a box and ship me to Abu Dhabi," Orihime finished disinterestedly, picking at her teeth with her pinky nail.

Ulquiorra glared at her. "Don't think I won't."

_Scratch, scratch._

"There it is again. Doesn't Washington have littering fines?" _Whump_. "What the - ! Oh my - ! Did we just run over a fucking _bear_?" Orihime turned in her seat but saw nothing on the road behind them. Her head whipped in Ulquiorra's direction, and she noticed that he seemed to be concentrating very hard on driving. "…what's in the trunk?"

"Nothing."

Oh yeah, that totally didn't sound guilty. "Ulquiorra, _sweetheart_, what did you put in the trunk?"

"Don't worry about it." His eyes narrowed. "All you should know is that I absolutely hate odd numbers, Ms. Inoue."

She crossed her arms and scowled, leaning back in her seat, jumping slightly when a long scratching sound came from the trunk. Luckily, she wouldn't have to wait long to find out what was back there. As soon as they arrived at the house, Ulquiorra cut the engine and quickly got out of the car. Orihime took her time collecting her things before she opened the door and, slamming it shut behind her, joined him at the trunk. Her eyes widened, and in her shock she nearly dropped her purse and bag. "What… is _that_." It wasn't even a question, she was in such a state.

"_That _is a 'him', and you'll make him self-conscious if you keep staring at him with such revulsion," Ulquiorra answered as he reached into a large carrier, fastening a leash to the collar of the biggest, ugliest English bulldog Orihime had ever seen. "Don't mind the rude dragon lady, Fortissimo. She gawks at everyone." His arms circled the dog and he hoisted it out of the trunk with obvious effort, setting it down on the wet grass and unceremoniously handing the leash to Orihime. "Hold onto him for a second."

"I don't want to." Orihime stared at the bulldog. It stared back at her with a vacant expression, panting, then licked its nose. She cringed.

Ulquiorra closed the carrier door and pulled it out of the trunk. "I adopted him this morning, hence the reason I was late to the funeral," he said casually, shifting the carrier into his other hand and closing the trunk, shoving his keys into his pocket. "Apparently nobody else wanted him."

"I can't imagine why," Orihime said dryly. Then the other half of what he'd said caught up to her. "Wait, you're not taking this… this _thing _back to Las Noches, are you?"

"Of course not. Fortissimo is a gift for my family." Ulquiorra took the leash from her and coaxed the dog to follow him as they made their way up the walk. "He should get along well with the others." Orihime trailed behind them, staring at the dog's wrinkled back and furiously wagging stub of a tail.

"But… it's _hideous_."

Ulquiorra looked at her, then looked down at Fortissimo. The bulldog sat and began licking its crotch. "Huh. Well, I thought he had character. And besides, three dogs? Just _three_? That's unacceptable, Ms. Inoue. Four is a much better number. Why, I could even say that four is my favorite number, and that makes Fortissimo special." He started walking again, forcing the wrinkled canine away from its crotch-cleaning and nudging the front door open with his shoulder. The house had emptied considerably while they were gone, causing Andante, Allegro and Caprice to greet them with a symphony of barks. When they noticed Fortissimo, the three went ballistic.

"Ulquiorra, Orihime, is that… oh! What on Earth!" Mrs. Ingram had just come out of the kitchen and, upon seeing the stinky canine, picked up her dress's skirts and ran over to them. Surprisingly quick for an older lady, Orihime thought. Mrs. Ingram shooed the jumping and barking dogs away from Fortissimo and took his scrunched up face in her hands. "Hello, precious! Who is this?" she cooed, rubbing him vigorously.

"This is Fortissimo," Ulquiorra answered, sending Orihime a glance that clearly said I-told-you-so. "I saw him at the shelter yesterday and adopted him this morning." He handed Mrs. Ingram the leash. "For you." She smiled up at him radiantly.

"Oh my God! What is that _adorable creature_?" Sarah cried from the top of the stairs. She descended them quickly, joining her mother in bathing the bulldog with affection. Matthew soon followed, laughing out loud as he allowed Fortissimo to slobber all over his face.

Orihime let out a sick groan and walked away from the hideous sight, moving to stand next to Natalia, who had appeared in the kitchen entrance and looked equally horrified. "Something's wrong with them," she declared, to which the Italian woman readily agreed. But she had to admit that there was something extremely cute about the fact that a moody guy like Ulquiorra had come from such a lively, dog-loving bunch. She smiled to herself, reaching into her purse for her phone, quickly finding her way to the camera and getting a snapshot of the happy scene: three olive-skinned brunettes, the pale and black-haired addition to their family, and four cheerful dogs. Blackmail, she told herself, but then thought twice about it. Perhaps she would use this picture whenever she needed to remind herself that there was more to her roommate than Paco.

…

The next day, they all stood outside the Sea-Tac Airport, ignoring the occasional _Isn't that Ulquiorra Ingram _whispers from random passerby as they said their good-byes. Mrs. Ingram had her arms around Ulquiorra, making him swear that he would call more often and visit whenever he could – not Thanksgiving or Christmas, he told her, because he already had plans – with Matthew laughing at the awkward way his adoptive brother reciprocated the embrace. Meanwhile, Orihime sat on a nearby bench with Sarah and Natalia, having already said her thanks and farewells.

"Say, Orihime," Sarah turned to her suddenly, "you asked me a personal question, so is it alright if I ask you one?"

Orihime blinked. "Sure."

"Well, I told you what our brother was like in the past," Sarah laughed lightly as Matthew gave Ulquiorra an even tighter hug than Mrs. Ingram had, lifting him off of the ground despite his protests. "What's he like now?" Natalia looked at her too, also interested.

Orihime's mouth quirked to the side. "You want the truth?" They both nodded, and she sighed. "He's a sadistic, antagonistic, sarcastic, at times whiny, emotionally unstable, slightly narcissistic, possibly homosexual, piano-obsessed, and questionably motivated asshole." Then she broke out into a grin. "But he has his good days. He can be kind of cool, even a little heroic sometimes. Witty, obviously talented… and I think he's one of the best friends I've ever had."

Sarah put a hand on her shoulder. "Do invite us to the wedding, Hime."

"What?"

Natalia grinned and hugged her. "I will definitely attend!" she said.

Orihime's face had gone beet-red again. "Wait, what wedding? We're not…! Argh!" She threw the hood of her jacket over her head as the two burst into hysterical laughter. Ulquiorra joined them, noticing how flustered Orihime was but knowing better than to ask when it involved Natalia and his sister.

"Ready to go?" he asked, holding his hand out to her. Orihime cut the snickering pair a stern look before taking his hand – it was cold, but at least it wasn't shaking anymore – and getting to her feet. Sarah stood and hugged Ulquiorra briefly.

"Mom's right. Come back soon or I'll kick your ass," she said, glaring at him.

"Alright, I heard you all the first time." Natalia was next, and she gave him an affectionate kiss on the cheek, followed by some very passionate words in Italian that caused him to scowl and pinch the bridge of her nose. "Don't say such stupid things when you don't mean them," he scolded her, shaking her head back and forth for emphasis. "You'll make Ms. Inoue jealous."

"Of what? You can have him, Natalia," Orihime said icily. A few goodbyes later, she and Ulquiorra headed into the airport. Mrs. Ingram glanced down at Natalia, who gazed after them fondly.

"You did tell Ms. Inoue about your history with Ulquiorra, didn't you?"

"Of course," Natalia smiled up at the older woman, "I am not cruel. I let her know what she was getting into. But who knows? Maybe he won't break her heart." She flipped her wavy black hair over her shoulder as they turned towards the parking garage. "Then again, I wouldn't count on that just yet."

And so began the hassle of luggage weighing, ticket-printing, security-scanning and the purchasing of overpriced food items. It was enough to make Orihime never want to fly again, but she had a feeling that she would. Hopefully it would be to freaking Hawaii next time. "Ulquiorra," she addressed him as they walked towards their gate, "you name all of your pieces, right?"

"That's correct."

"What are the new ones called?"

He gave her a meaningful look. "It's a secret."

Orihime shoved him to the side. "Bullshit!" she cried, earning scowls from a trio of old ladies nearby. "One of these days I'm just going to steal that notebook of yours and see for myself."

"Ah, now I'm going to have to keep it under lock and key," Ulquiorra said, then hummed thoughtfully. "By the way, I'll be wanting that three-course dinner when we get back, but I changed my mind for the entrée. Have you ever roasted a duck before?"

"Roast your own damn duck."

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Next Chapter: -George Takei voice- Oh myyyy.


	18. Bittersweet Symphony

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Bittersweet Symphony**

It was a weird position to be in. A normal person would have been suffering from a serious headache by now, what with all the blood that was rushing to it, but Orihime was used to men putting her into uncomfortable poses. She did, however, have a headache, but that could be blamed on all the thoughts going through her mind, screaming and battering against her brain's pink walls, demanding to be set free. This was one of those situations where she could have easily thrown a tantrum, but hadn't. She was too shocked, too confused. And so she rested there, with her legs on the piano bench and the rest of her on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, the weight of her chest crushing her lungs, which hadn't been functioning normally for the last hour anyway.

An hour. One full hour had passed, and she was still too surprised to move, to speak. Had that really just happened? Or was it some twisted work of her imagination, making her think things and feel things that were too awkward for her to accept, to grasp? Her heart fluttered, her stomach flopped. These were new sensations, things she had read about in x-rated novels when she was in middle school and frowned, thinking that she'd never experienced them before.

And by all accounts, she should have. She'd had men – more than she could even count – of every height and age and build. For a while she had likened what she did to being on a search for the one that "fit just right," for the one that would turn her into a mewling, lustful creature, like the girls in those books. She had thought that maybe someday she would see stars bursting in front of her eyes, feel that tightening in her gut and have no control over how to bring herself over the edge, which would make it all the better. She'd hoped, but only for a year or two, that someday she would find a man who made sex worthwhile.

What had he looked like in her mind? Tire-track abs, tall, strong arms, bronze skin, hair that was neither too long nor too short (perfect for running her hands through), and rippling back muscles. Oh God, yes. Rippling back muscles for sure. And blue eyes too, maybe. She liked blue eyes.

Now then, when and how in the hell had _that _become Ulquiorra?

…_A Few Hours Earlier_…

Upon their arrival in Las Noches, Gin greeted Orihime and Ulquiorra warmly from the front desk, his perma-smile set back into place. "How was the trip?" he asked, to which Ulquiorra replied 'exhausting' and Orihime replied 'too cold'. "Good, good!" he said as if he hadn't heard them. "I held all of your mail here in the office, but as for the packages, we ran out of room so I had to take them up to your apartment."

"Packages?" Ulquiorra frowned.

Gin handed him a stack of envelopes. "You'll see." Orihime glanced at the top of the stack and saw that the majority of them were cards, all from fellow Las Noches residents. Ulquiorra placed them into one of his luggages, making sure they wouldn't get squashed, then thanked Gin and moved along. Orihime had almost forgotten that she was mad, but remembered just in time to give the silver-haired attendant an I'm-Watching-You scowl before following after Ulquiorra.

"Is Grimmjow going to be in the apartment?" he asked her as they got into the elevator. "Usually when Nel kicks him out he crashes on the sofa bed."

Orihime let out a very, _very _irritated sigh. "No," she said, and cracked a borderline deranged smile, "Nel forgave him already." The message had come before they'd gotten onto the plane, and had made Orihime so angry that she'd shut her phone off and taken a nap to calm down.

"How did he manage to win her back _this _time?"

"He promised to marry her."

"Again?" Ulquiorra blinked owlishly, then jumped when Orihime suddenly stamped her foot violently and let out a cry of frustration. "Don't bring down the elevator, Ms. Inoue."

"What do you mean _again_? That cheating bastard has said this _before_?" she yelled, to which Ulquiorra replied by staring at her blankly, as if he was surprised that she hadn't reached this conclusion on her own. She then spent the next thirty seconds filling the elevator with every expletive she knew, despite Ulquiorra begging her to stop, and then threatening to shove a bar of soap down her throat if she didn't. By the time the doors had opened onto the fourth floor, she was out of breath and he was annoyed. They went down the hall in silence, Ulquiorra reaching for his keys and unlocking the front door. But when they stepped into the apartment, they found themselves wondering if they had taken a wrong turn somewhere. The packages that Gin had been referring to were gift baskets and flower bouquets, enough to have filled both the couch and the dining table, and the leafy odor smacked them in the face immediately. Orihime went over and examined the tags. "Aww!" she turned to him with a smile, "The neighbors heard about your father and sent their condolences."

"Really? How kind of them," Ulquiorra said, though he looked faint. "Can you open the window, please?"

"What's wrong?"

"The flowers." He waved a hand and lifted his sleeve to his nose. "The smell of them makes my head hurt, and judging by the pungency of the aroma, I'd say they've been in here for a while." Orihime moved around the table and pried the window open, letting in the cold, fresh air.

"Oh!" she cried, pointing into the distance. "Ulquiorra, why didn't you tell me we had a view of the university stadium? With a pair of binoculars I could watch the games from here! It's still football season, right?"

"Yes. I believe they're playing tomorrow afternoon, although according to ESPN's coverage of college ball, they haven't been doing very well this season. No surprise there. They never get very far." Ulquiorra shrugged. "Even worse, they've managed to injure their star quarterback, so he'll be out for the next three games, one of which happens to be against their rivals. Basically, they're screwed."

Orihime stared at him. "And you know this… how?"

He pointed to himself. "Male."

"Right. I'd almost forgotten."

The next few hours had been spent unpacking, tidying up – all the accumulated dust made Ulquiorra both nervous and sneezy – and going through all the sympathy cards and presents. They were all from within the building, save for one from Rangiku and Momo, which she must have mailed in, otherwise she'd have had another dramatic encounter with Gin and he had seemed way too cheerful for that to have happened. Unfortunately, the flower smell was stubborn, clinging to everything in the apartment: furniture, curtains, carpet. And after two hours of sneezing, Ulquiorra developed the migraine of the century.

"Ms. Inoue, I think I'm dying," he groaned, sprawled out on the couch and looking the picture of misery. He glanced up at her through hooded eyes. "You're making dinner, right?"

"Sure am!" Orihime declared, then held up a menu for a Chinese restaurant. "I call it _delivery_."

"I d-don't wa… wa-hant," and here he sneezed violently, "I don't want Chinese food."

"You left me in charge of dinner, so that's what you're getting." Orihime glared at him. "You know, maybe you should go outside, take a walk. Being cooped up in here with the smell and the dust is only going to make you feel worse," she said, trying to sound more annoyed than concerned. The last thing she wanted was for him to get the impression that she was actually worried about his health, which she was, but he didn't need to know that. "You can pick up some milk and bread while you're at it. That stuff expired while we were gone."

"Ah, not a bad idea." Ulquiorra lifted himself slowly, holding his head. "Though a pain killer or two would be nice."

Orihime sighed, rolled her eyes and went into the kitchen, opening the medicine cabinet. The coffee maker was in there. What the fuck? She then remembered that they had rearranged everything again before leaving. The pill bottles were lined up neatly next to the coffee mugs. She examined a few before finding the Tylenol.

Then she decided to be a little evil. Grabbing the Tylenol and filling the Batman mug with water, she brought both back to Ulquiorra and sat next to him on the couch. "You know, you say that you hate odd numbers,"

"I do," Ulquiorra muttered, his eyes squeezed shut, holding the ceramic cup as if he were about to throw up into it.

"Then why are there seven coffee mugs?" It was an innocent question, but it forced his eyes open.

"What?"

"There are seven coffee mugs on the wooden thing in the kitchen." Which was the truth; she had counted several times in the past. But Ulquiorra was looking at her as if she had gone from dragon to hydra and grown another head.

"No," he said, his brow furrowing, "there are six."

"There are six now because you've got the Batman mug. But there were seven on the thing. There's always been seven."

"There are six. Every time I change them, I put six new ones on."

"But you always leave the Batman mug, which makes seven," she interrupted him. He stared at her a moment, then quickly popped the Tylenol into his mouth and chugged the water before standing and making his way into the kitchen. Orihime sat on the sofa patiently, hearing him count to himself, trailing off as he got to… "Do you see now? Seven mugs," she told him, examining her nails. Silence. "Ulquiorra?"

"What am I going to do? I can't take one of them off and simply leave the peg empty. That would be just as unacceptable as having seven. How did this escape my notice for so long? Did I not count them while I put them on?" The sound of the mugs being removed from the wooden holder reached Orihime. She shook her head. This guy… "Ms. Inoue, how do I fix this?" A pause. "Should I saw off one of the pegs?"

"What? No!" She stood up and jogged into the kitchen before Ulquiorra had the chance to maim anything. He was holding a mug in each hand, staring at the holder as if it had just told him that his mother was a cow. "Just… buy one with six pegs, I guess."

"Do they make those?" He turned to her with a hopeful expression.

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Orihime began replacing the mugs. "And what are you still doing here? Go get the milk and bread! I'll order dinner when you return."

"So mine won't get cold?"

"No, so you can pay for it."

Ulquiorra would have rolled his eyes had his head not been hurting so bad. "Fine," he handed her the two mugs he'd been holding, then went and took his keys off of the table, "I'll be back in however long it takes someone in health as frail as mine to get groceries." He glanced at her from the living room, giving her the most pitiful look he could muster; which, with a face like his, was pretty pathetic. Orihime blinked slowly, unaffectedly.

"Don't get hit by a car," she said finally, waving him off. He sighed and turned towards the door.

"I'll be sure to pick up some dragon kibble while I'm at it." Orihime's shoe went sailing past his head. "You should work on your aim!"

She huffed and crossed her arms. Idiot. What was she supposed to do until he came back? It only took a second of thought for a huge grin to spread across her face, and then she was sprinting across the apartment, down the hall and into Ulquiorra's bedroom, where she proceeded to throw herself onto the bed. "Ah!" she sighed happily and rolled onto her stomach, then onto her back, repeating the motion until she was sure that her entire body had soaked up the delicious feeling of the mattress. Then she squirmed and writhed, upsetting the meticulously placed comforter. Then she suddenly felt compelled to crawl under the covers like a child playing in their parents' bed, so she began ripping the neatly folded blankets from under the pillow and laying them out as best as she could before tunneling beneath them. "Heheheh," she giggled, squirming even more, knowing that she would be in serious trouble if Ulquiorra randomly appeared at the doorway and caught her. Oh well. She would just have to fix the mess she made before he came back.

Besides, it was nice being under there. All she needed was a flashlight and a diary to write in and she'd be living the childhood she never had. Her smile faded, and she turned her head to bury her nose in the sheets. _Such a nice scent… but it smells like flowers, too. _She sat up. _Maybe I should wash these for him. He'll do nothing but whine if he wakes up with a headache._ Her legs slipped off of the bed and she gathered the blankets into her arms, carrying them off to the small laundry room past the kitchen. Well, now she would have to be honest about her frolic in his bed if he asked her where the sheets had gone.

Once that was done, she took all the gift bouquets, selected the most alive-looking flowers from each and arranged a new bouquet, which she put on the small table next to the couch. Ulquiorra spent most of his time at the dining table, piano, or in his room, so this way she could enjoy them without the smell bothering him too much. She smiled at her creation, then disposed of the rest of the flowers, which had sadly died.

With that out of the way, she had effectively killed half an hour. She stood listlessly in the middle of the apartment for a moment, then wandered over to the piano, which looked almost neglected in the pale sunlight. Her eyes narrowed. That stupid thing was probably as spoiled as Ulquiorra was, what with all the attention he gave it. But it was a little dusty, and he would never stand for that, so she retrieved a dust cloth in the closet and began wiping down the piano's surface. The cleaner it became, the more she felt curiosity gnawing at her insides. Throwing the cloth aside, she sat down on the bench and, after casting a paranoid look at the door, lifted the cover off of the keys. Ulquiorra had never said that she wasn't allowed to play it. She cautiously pushed down on one of the white keys and a single, soft note resounded within the quiet room.

Looking at the repeating pattern of black and white, she once again found herself amazed at Ulquiorra's ability to flawlessly produce images and evoke such strong emotions just by touching a sequence of keys. It was so strange, how she'd been brought to tears by the simple striking of tightly wound strings. How did he do it? Of the endless combinations of notes and chords, how could he choose the right ones to fulfill his purpose every single time, when she could hardly remember which key corresponded to which sound?

The front door opened. Orihime looked up to see Ulquiorra staring at her with a plastic bag in hand, blinking in surprise, and felt the blood drain from her face. Oh dear. She'd been caught. "Welcome back!"

Ulquiorra stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "Are you going to play me something?" he asked good-naturedly, heading into the kitchen to put the groceries away.

Now it was her turn to be surprised. He wasn't mad? "Oh! No, _no._ I don't… I couldn't… no way," she laughed, lifting her hands into the air. "I only had like, a month of lessons or something. I can't even remember how to play Chopsticks, or do that knuckle thing."

"Come on, I'm sure you'll do fine. Play something."

She'd had to turn to face him as he set the milk into the refrigerator. "Seriously. I can't play to save my life."

"Hmm," Ulquiorra threw away the wet plastic bag and wiped his hands on his pants, coming out of the kitchen and slipping between the half-wall and piano bench to sit to Orihime's left. "It's not that hard," he said, taking her hands and placing them over the keys, repositioning her fingers. "Your hands aren't too small, either. It's a bit difficult for people with short fingers to reach the keys when they start out," he explained, then gestured for her to play. Orihime pressed down too lightly, producing no sound. "A little harder." She tried again, and this time, a chord filled the living room. "Now, shorter."

"Why?"

"It's the first note in a song, and it happens to be staccato."

"Meaning…"

"Short, brief. Imagine a period at the end of the sentence, or the dot on top of the letter 'i'." Ulquiorra tapped a key on his end of the piano. "Like so."

"Uh… alright." Orihime blushed, feeling embarrassed. She had the bad luck of having to switch between seeing him as her friend and seeing him as the piano genius that he was. He'd probably figured out this staccato stuff before he'd learned how to walk. Keeping her fingers in place, she tried the chord again.

"Almost," Ulquiorra couldn't deny the fact that he was enjoying this, particularly the vexed look on her face. But he knew that she was going to lose her patience soon. "Pretend the keys are really hot."

Orihime tried once more, this time lifting off of the note quickly. "Like that?"

"Very good," Ulquiorra reached over and placed his hands on top of hers. "You are now going to play a song for me," he said, throwing her a lazy smirk. "Ready?"

Orihime stared down at their hands. How could he say that hers weren't that small? Compared to his, they were tiny, but those long fingers must have been what allowed him to play so effortlessly. And it was weird, but her palms suddenly felt very warm and a bit clammy. Her mind must have been really good at making the keys seem hot, because now it seemed like they really _were_ on fire… and her stomach was doing this weird flutter thing that she didn't enjoy in the slightest. "Sure," she said, her voice sounding strange to her.

Ulquiorra kept a firm hold of her hands as he began to play, letting her fingers be the ones to hit the keys, though he did all the footwork with the pedals. "Wow, Ms. Inoue, I never knew you were so talented."

"What song is this?" Orihime asked, unable to look away from their moving hands.

"_Tunnel of Wind_. Well, this is one variation of it, arranged as a duet for the piano and violin. Sarah and I performed this song… hmm, the summer before my junior year of high school, I think. It was one of those record company parties in downtown Seattle," he said as the song suddenly changed, the pace quickening a bit. "But I can't play it nearly as well as you can."

Orihime scoffed. "Oh, please." She wished that she could be the one in charge, but it would take years for her to get to this level, and by then Ulquiorra would have learned to play the piano with his toes when his hands became useless due to severe arthritis. The accompanying mental image made her break out into a huge grin, which he didn't fail to notice.

"What?"

"Nothing," she giggled, leaning her head against his shoulder. Ah, damn it, there was that nice scent. He hadn't asked her about the washing machine; then again, he hadn't gone into his room. Or maybe the machine had been quiet when he'd come in. Hadn't it beeped a little while ago? She couldn't remember. Her thoughts were really cloudy, like she could curl up on the piano bench and go right to sleep. She lifted her head, trying to focus, but her hands were so warm and her heart was beating almost lethargically. Maybe… maybe it wasn't the mattress that made the bed so comfortable. Oh, that was a dangerous thought. She couldn't think thoughts like that; it wasn't safe… wait, safe for who?

Orihime looked up at Ulquiorra as the song ended, wishing she knew what the hell her mind was trying to get at. She was so confused. The pounding heartbeat and twisting stomach were making her whole body feel strange. He gazed down at her curiously, his green eyes brought out and complemented nicely with the golden light of the setting sun coming in from the window. And it must have been that lighting, but Orihime couldn't help but notice that he really was kind of cute… handsome, even, though he wasn't perfect by any means. Oh, no, she'd had _way_ better looking guys than him… and yet their looks, their touch, their empty words had evoked nothing but a hollow feeling in her ribcage. Sometimes, as they'd said affectionate – and vulgar – things to her, she'd pondered whether or not she even had a heart, or if it had been ripped out years ago, leaving a gaping hole where it should have been. But no… there it was. She felt it now, and it was jerking in weird motions that were neither pleasant nor frightening. And she could have sworn that she was closer to Ulquiorra now than she had been a few seconds ago, and they'd been pretty close to start with.

It was so different, and yet familiar. She'd heard about these things before. She kind of wanted to grab her phone and call Rangiku to ask for a quick confirmation. Oh, but her hands were still under Ulquiorra's, and the warmth was so nice that she didn't feel like moving them. Okay, so he _was _closer, that wasn't just her imagination. What was happening here? Hadn't she done this before? Well, that depended on what they were doing, but she was pretty sure this whole scenario looked familiar. Now she couldn't see him; her eyes had closed for some reason…

But he was there. He hadn't gone anywhere. In fact, if she leaned in a bit closer, she was certain that she would end up kissing him.

Ah… that's what was going on. All of these weird thoughts and emotions… he was conducting some sort of twisted symphony, and her body was the obedient orchestra. Had she not been sloshing through the thick, soupy liquid that her brain had become, she probably would have felt silly. But the only things she could feel in that instance were his fingers resting heavily over hers, her heart running about her chest cavity frantically, her stomach performing acrobatics, and his lips as they just barely touched her own, bringing that symphony of sensations to a dramatic fermata with the violin holding a single, high-pitched and tense note. And then one of his hands left hers cold and trembling, reappearing a moment later as she felt his fingers lightly glide down her cheek, causing her to suck in a breath. That poor violinist was going to keel over if he didn't end this soon.

But Ulquiorra was a prodigy, she remembered; an expert. He knew just how long was long enough. His hand slipped aside, resting just below her ear, his thumb brushing across the flushed skin of her cheek before his lips found hers again and the entire orchestra tumbled down from the climax of the piece. Only this time, Orihime had enough brains left to urge her body to respond. She returned the kiss, but it was as if all of that experience she'd built up over the years had been lost. She felt clumsy and shy and… not herself. But this didn't feel like she thought it was supposed to. Her body was going crazy, and they weren't even doing anything… well, her former definition of 'anything'.

Ulquiorra drew back a bit, surprised when she leaned in to try and engage him again. Oh, how could he possibly resist when his heart throbbed so painfully? He kissed her, and thought of how badly he wanted to pull her closer, until there was no room to escape. He would convince her that there was nothing else for her outside of that apartment building, away from him. His selfishness would get the better of him.

Wait.

He wasn't supposed to be doing this. No, he had strictly told himself not to. On the plane ride home, it had been his mantra, looping through his head like an annoying pop song overplayed by the radio. This wasn't allowed to happen, and why? Because it wasn't supposed to mean anything. Because she was being lied to. Because, once upon a time, he had imagined doing something like this to see what kind of composition came to mind.

He didn't deserve this.

Ulquiorra blinked, and just like that, the spell was broken. But with that, he was brought back to reality… and reality could not have been worse in that moment. In his mind's haste to put the brakes on his actions, the hand that had once cupped Orihime's cheek so tenderly was now, quite literally, in her face, holding her away at arm's length. She wasn't saying anything, but holy shit, he had _not _just shoved his hand in her face. Oh, but there it was. He quickly retracted his arm and stood, the sudden movement causing Orihime to lose her balance and fall off of the piano bench with a yelp.

_Have to get out of here_. He dug into his pockets and found that his keys were still there, thank goodness, and made for the door as if the devil himself were on his heels. And knowing Orihime, he had about ten seconds before the devil _her_self would be on his ass.

But Orihime hadn't moved. She'd heard the front door shut, but couldn't react. She was in too much shock. The tingling in her body had yet to wear off, even though her back and head were on the carpet and her legs were dangling over the piano bench. She didn't budge, even as her brain came back online and tried to rationalize what had just transpired. It took her an hour, but she finally managed to place a name to the group of feelings that she had just experienced: _lust_.

Because if there was one thing she had learned throughout her life as a prostitute, it was that love did not exist.

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Feel free to smack your forehead with your palm… now. Didn't that feel good?

**Why can't I seem to relax and enjoy the fluff? **See Murphy's Law: "Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong." I am an evil person and therefore fully intend to make _everything go wrong_.

Next Chapter: Excuses, excuses, and Rangiku has a very bad day.


	19. Risky Business

**Disclaimer: **Ownership of Bleach is not mine.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Risky Business**

Ulquiorra did not return to the apartment before Orihime went to bed, and when she woke up the next morning, he was already gone. She glared into his empty room and sighed, blowing out her bangs. Well, so much for having an adult conversation about what she was going to henceforth refer to as The Incident. It certainly didn't help that she had fallen asleep thinking about it, which had resulted in her still-confused brain producing all sorts of awkward dreams. The least Ulquiorra could do was be a man and stick around long enough to talk things out.

But no. Now Orihime had to go through an extra-long shift at work – she'd decided to make up some hours by helping the diner with the football game rush – with an unresolved conflict buzzing around her like some pesky fly. Oh, but what would she have said to him anyway? _I'm sorry. It was a fluke. Seriously, it won't happen again. It's been a long week and I'm still kind of jet-lag-y, and… yeah. Let's just forget about it and move on, okay? By the way, out of curiosity, have you ever had sex before and, if so, what were the general reactions of your past lovers?_

Right, because that would go over _so _well.

Orihime sighed as she put on her Haineko uniform and tucked her silver nametag into the pocket of her apron. Then she caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror and paused. A fiery mane of hair treated with a flat iron until burned into submission, piled into a bun; two silvery gray eyes behind long lashes, dusted with eye shadow and concealer to take the attention off of the bags beneath them; two full lips lightly smeared with shimmering pink gloss; carefully groomed eyebrows and cheeks covered with artificial color. She turned her head to the side, as if she would find some previously unseen flaw if she just angled it in another direction. Her glossed lips parted in a sigh. Ulquiorra had seen her without all of this on several occasions. He'd seen this face when it was sweaty, smeared with running makeup, when her hair was in disarray. He'd seen this face full of tears and snot, frustration, anguish, rage, annoyance…

So what on Earth had prompted him to remove the distance between himself and this imperfect face? What had he been thinking when he'd brought those talented, beauty-eliciting fingers to caress her so kindly, as if she would break if he pressed too hard? No one had ever treated her that way. They promised to be gentle, but they never were. Ugh! Just thinking about it made her body tingle again. Unconsciously, she reached up with her own hand and touched her cheek. It felt pretty firm to her. Nothing special there.

But that was it, wasn't it? The hesitant manner with which he had handled her had made all the difference. She laughed to herself. There was nothing new about Ulquiorra. He just knew how to be careful. The thought was actually kind of reassuring. For a whole minute there she'd been worried that she would have to get him into bed to convince herself that he wasn't her "perfect fit."

…

Valentine's Day should have been in autumn. At least, that's what Orihime had always thought. In middle and high school, the fall semesters were filled with budding romances as people came back from summer vacation to discover that either the new students were particularly good-looking this year, or their dorky friends and neighbors had undergone dramatic physical transformations since they had last been seen. She remembered when Kurosaki had hit puberty; Tatsuki and Rukia had almost lost each other's friendship over him. How stupid. She hadn't been very impressed, for obvious reasons of course.

This came to mind now because of Momo's mood. The sweet-faced girl was all smiles, humming cheerfully, and at times a little spacey. Orihime may have never experienced love for herself, but she definitely knew its symptoms. "So, how's your boyfriend?" she finally asked, if only to banter.

Momo whirled around, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, as if the question had truly caught her off guard. "Oh, he's well!" Her smile widened. "Last night he took me out to see a movie, and it had been a while since I'd gone out with him so I was totally nervous and excited at the same time. Gosh, he was so handsome, and always a gentleman," she swooned. "He said that he was going to come by after the football game. He's an alumnus."

A record scratched in Orihime's mind. "Wait… alumnus. I know this word. That means he graduated from the university, right?" Momo nodded once. Orihime stared at her. "Momo, how old _is_ he?"

At that moment, Rangiku swooped in, sporting an outfit that consisted of the local university's colors. She reached across the bar and grabbed a menu, using it to fan herself. "What a freaking crowd! Thank God I thought to call in for extra help. And you, Orihime, you totally saved my butt too," she said with a grin. "Let me know if the podium gets too boring for you guys. I can get a pair of waitresses to switch with you for a few hours."

"Thanks, Ms. Matsumoto!" Momo chirped.

Orihime sighed. Looks like she would have to get that answer later. In the mean time, she was having a serious dilemma, trying to decide whether or not she wanted to tell these two about The Incident. On the plus side, they would definitely be able to help her sort out all of these confusing feelings, but at the same time, this worried her for some reason. What she wanted them to say was that she was simply lusting after the guy, and a one-night-stand would clear up any of her doubts. What they would _probably _say, however, was that she liked Ulquiorra. And Orihime did not like Ulquiorra. She still wanted to get back at him for calling her The Help in front of all those reporters. Also, when she had woken up from her nap on the plane ride back, she had found that all of her gum had been chewed and strategically stuck to a napkin in the shape of a happy face with a buck tooth.

Her blood called out for revenge, not romance.

Rangiku looked up as the diner door opened. She smiled and tapped Orihime on the arm, pointing ahead. Orihime thought she was telling her to help the new customer, but when she turned around, she found herself face to face with the object of her uncertainty, clad in a black turtleneck and green scarf that somehow made him look even smaller than he was.

Ulquiorra blinked at her slowly. "Hey."

Her eyes must have suddenly decided that he was too offensive to look at, because her gaze refused to stay focused on him. "Hey."

Pregnant pause.

Rangiku, oblivious the tension between them, waved at Ulquiorra. "What's up? I'm sorry, we still haven't been properly introduced." She held her hand out. "My name's Rangiku Matsumoto, and I promise I will never crash drunkenly at your apartment again."

The rehearsed smile found its way to Ulquiorra's face as he shook her offered hand. "Nice to meet you _officially_, Ms. Matsumoto. But it's alright. I understand that you weren't feeling well that night," he said, sounding pleasant and weird and not himself. Orihime frowned at him. "Now then, I hate to come in here to disrupt, but if it's alright, could Ms. Inoue take a short break? I need to talk to her."

"Are you kicking her out? Whatever she did, I swear it wasn't on purpose." Rangiku flicked Orihime's ear. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" Orihime cried. But then the two realized that he was waiting expectantly, so Rangiku shooed her away.

"Ten minutes. Will that be enough?"

"That will do perfectly. Thank you." Ulquiorra nodded cordially and allowed Orihime to walk ahead of him. She heard Momo and Rangiku start gossiping the moment they thought she was out of hearing range, but she would correct whatever assumptions they'd made later. For now, she was just trying to put one foot in front of the other. As many times as she had rehearsed this conversation while she'd been getting ready for work that morning, she realized that it was like bungee jumping: nothing could have truly prepared her for the leap. Miraculously, she found an empty booth towards the back of the restaurant. It hadn't been cleared yet, but she assumed that Ulquiorra was only there to talk. He didn't seem like the type who enjoyed greasy diner food. They sat opposite each other, and while her eyes still refused to meet his, he stared right at her with that same piercing gaze as always.

Orihime sighed. "Look…"

"I'm sorry," he cut in, his face completely devoid of emotion. "It was a fluke. The pain killers and the flower smell made me feel a bit woozy, I wasn't thinking straight; it was just a lapse in judgment, and it won't happen again." He eyed her curiously. "Can we put this past us?"

Wow, okay. It was almost exactly what she'd wanted to say to him. So then, why did she feel annoyed? Offended? Shoot, _he _was the one who had kissed _her_, and now he was saying it was a mistake? She was tempted to run into the bathroom and scrutinize herself in the mirror. After all, she'd taken care of her appearance for so long that it seemed odd that somebody _didn't _want her. Had she lost her appeal? Was he lying? Or, was he telling the truth and regretting the action because he was attracted to men? "Yes," she said finally, her thoughts reeling like a person who had just come off of a tilt-a-whirl. "Yes, we can put this past us."

"Good." Ulquiorra leaned back in the booth, letting out a sigh of relief. "That makes things significantly less awkward."

"Haha, yeah," Orihime said, sounding strange again.

Ulquiorra had been expecting several different reactions, this being one of them. She was confused, perhaps a bit irritated. But he preferred to catch these things before they got out of hand, before she had reason to be even angrier with him, and before he had a reason to hate himself – he _was_ the most affable guy he knew; losing that narcissism would be a tragedy. All he had to do was ignore the part of his brain that was yelling at him for hurting her feelings. It was none of his business. He wasn't there to comfort her.

Though he could at least buy her dessert or something… no, damn it. He scowled.

Orihime cleared her throat and moved to stand. "Well, if that's all you came to say…"

"Right. I've got another class in a bit." He stood with her, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I'll see you later?"

"Tonight, actually. I'm working late, so don't worry about dinner or anything. I'll eat here," Orihime told him as they both made their way back toward the entrance. Momo and Rangiku were staring at them, and when she cut them a glare they both pretended to be busy doing something else. "Have fun with your students," she offered lamely. Ulquiorra nodded once before pushing the door open and heading off down the sidewalk.

Once he was out of sight, Rangiku leaned in closer. "Judging by the look on your face, I'd say that he just asked you out."

"No way!" Momo squeaked, her eyes widening with excitement. "Did he really?" Then they both noticed that Orihime wasn't smiling. In fact, she seemed bewildered. Was that how it had appeared to them, when in fact he had done the exact opposite?

"No, he didn't," she said simply, overtaken by the sudden urge to straighten out the menus and crayon boxes, then perhaps count all the peppermints in the bowl they kept by the door. Why was she so upset? Was it because she had been rejected? Or more specifically, was it because _he _had rejected her? No, of course not. She wasn't used to being turned down by men, so she was feeling a little self-conscious, that was all. God, how long had it been since she'd had sex anyway? All this time she had gotten by with the wanting stares from strangers as she walked down the street, but now that didn't seem like enough.

She knew she looked good; how had Ulquiorra managed to make her feel so ugly?

"Ah, well, that would have been weird anyway, right?" Rangiku noticed that she was getting more upset by the second, so she tried to redirect Orihime's thought train. "If you guys had gotten together and ended up splitting, living with him would be hell."

Momo blinked. "Oh, that's right! You two are roommates, huh?"

"Yeah." Orihime laughed, but it was forced. "Roommates." She didn't have a problem with keeping things the way they were. He didn't seem like the type who would agree to the whole 'friends with benefits' thing… not that she was attracted to him in that way. No, definitely not. Yesterday was a fluke. She knew it, he knew it, and if she asked for any sane person's opinion, they would know it too. It was like a panic attack; all the stress of the last week had finally caught up to them and needed to be expressed somehow, and they just happened to be in perfect kissing range.

Okay. She smiled, satisfied that she had come up with an answer for The Incident, and smothered the insecurity welling up inside of her. Everything was going to be fine; normal, even. There was nothing to worry about.

Rangiku later went back to her office to get some scheduling done for the next week, leaving Momo and Orihime at the podium. Within the next hour, the football crowd began to trickle in as the game ended. They were so swamped with work that Orihime didn't notice Doctor Aizen sitting at a table near the window until she walked past with someone's order in hand. "Oh!" She blinked in surprise. "Hey Doctor Aizen! Give me just a second," she ran and quickly delivered the order, then came back. "What brings you in today?"

"Haha, normally that is something I would say to a client of mine." He was once again wearing contacts, and his hair was pushed back away from his face. Now _here _was a handsome man, Orihime thought, mentally comparing Ulquiorra to him. Nope. Poor guy didn't stand a chance.

"You look sharp. Here to meet your girlfriend?" she asked, grinning.

Aizen laughed. "You caught me. I think she'll be back soon." His gaze flickered over the menu. "What should I order, Ms. Inoue? I've never been here before."

"Well, it's past lunch time, but not exactly dinner time, so I guess it depends on what you're in the mood for. Personally, I'd go for either the chicken fried steak or the turkey-bacon club sandwich," Orihime answered, leaning over to point each out on the menu. When she drew back, for a split second she could have sworn he'd been staring at her chest, but dismissed that as her fried brain's attempt to compensate for her rejection. "Can I get you anything in the mean time?"

"Ah, that's alright. Momo was bringing me a coffee," he said, then looked past her. "Speaking of which, here she comes."

Sure enough, Momo bounded up to the table, coffee pot in hand, her cheeks flushed. "Orihime!" She smiled broadly, her voice lowering. "I see you've met my boyfriend."

"Oh, yeah, Aizen and I live in the same – _what?_" she cried, causing Momo to jump and nearly spill the coffee, Aizen's smile to fade, and half of the diner to glance in their direction. Orihime coughed and forced a deranged smile to her face. "Oh! Wow!" She looked back and forth between them. "Wow! Okay, I was _not _expecting that! But you know what, I am so happy for the two of you!" Her voice was still a pitch or two higher than it needed to be. "I'm… going to go man the podium!" she giggled nervously and turned, getting away from the two as quickly as she could. What the _fuck_? Momo was dating Doctor Aizen? The man was at least forty years old! What the hell was she_ thinking_? Wasn't he aware of the fact that she was in high school? Didn't that _bother _him? Oh God, he was a _pedophile_? No freaking wonder she'd always felt weird around him! Oh, gross! Disgusting! Were they having _sex_? She felt woozy. She was going to throw up. She needed to pinch herself and wake up from this bizarre dream and force Ulquiorra to make her pancakes for breakfast after they talked out The Incident again, as this being a dream would null their previous conversation, which was an oddly comforting thought.

Where was Rangiku? She wanted to talk to Rangiku, but wait, not now. There were customers waiting to be seated. Deal with them first, freak the fuck out later. There was a job to do! Never mind the fact that Momo was still flirting with Aizen at the other end of the diner. Oh dear God, this day needed to be _over_.

But fate was being particularly mean to her. A steady stream of customers came in, keeping her busy as the waiters and waitresses became increasingly frantic. She would occasionally step in to help them, but then the line at the door would back up and she'd have to find whatever empty tables she could to seat them. At one point, the entire diner was full, so she had to give the incoming customers the "seating time is twenty minutes" speech before running off to assist the waiters again.

And the entire time, Rangiku was missing in action. Normally the sound of business would draw her away from her office so she could go around making sure that her patrons were happy and full of delicious food. But she may as well have dropped off of the planet for all the appearances she was making. She didn't come out of the office, even after the rush had slowed down to the point where Orihime could actually sit down and rest her feet for a bit. Seven-hour work shifts? Not her thing. Hopefully there wouldn't be anymore impromptu trips across the country so she could maintain her regular working schedule. Her legs were aching, begging her to go home and sleep, or to at least dip them into a hot tub.

It took an hour for Doctor Aizen to leave, and shortly after that, one of Momo's friends – a boy with spiky white hair that she introduced to Orihime as Toshiro Hitsugaya, a freshman at her high school and long time family friend – came to the restaurant and diverted the girl's attention. Damn it! Orihime really wanted to sit down and reason with her: Are you aware of the fact that you could have Doctor Aizen _thrown in jail_ – though if he'd had sex with her, he would deserve it – if someone found out the two of your were dating? That his psychology license could be revoked, his reputation permanently destroyed thanks to a fling with a naïve high school girl? Damn it, damn it, damn it! If she weren't on the clock, she would turn and ask one of the bartenders to fetch her a beer.

In her frenzied state, she almost didn't notice Momo's friend waving her down. There was nobody waiting to be seated, so she left the podium for a split second and walked over to him. "What's up, Mr. Hitsugaya?" The boy was short, but then again, he was only fifteen. He probably still had some puberty left to go through. He was pretty good looking for a kid, though, and once he hit those growth spurts he would be knocking the women off their feet wherever he went.

Toshiro glared up at her, frustration apparent on his face. "This peace cobbler on the menu," he said so quietly that she had to lean in a bit closer to hear him over the din. "It's Momo's favorite, right?"

Orihime thought for a moment. Yeah, she had heard Momo say that once or twice. "It is. You want some?"

Toshiro scowled even deeper. "Sure." Then his head snapped up, eyes wide. "Don't bring it to me, though! I'll pay for it, just… give it…" His cheeks colored. "Give to Momo. But only after I leave! And don't tell her it's from me, got it?" he cried.

Orihime stared at him, realization dawning on her. Did he have a crush on Momo? That was _adorable_! She wanted to hug him, but something about the way he carried himself told her that he wasn't the hugging type. "Sure thing," she said, smiling at him and jotting it down on her memo pad. See, why couldn't Momo date someone like _him_? He was younger than her by two years, and shorter than her, but damn it, at least he seemed to genuinely care about her! And he wasn't old enough to be her damn father!

Oh, that wasn't fair of her. Maybe Momo and Aizen's relationship was one of the few that worked despite the gap – okay, more like the Grand-fucking-Canyon – between them. She needed to calm down. She needed to find out where the hell Rangiku had disappeared to.

As soon as Toshiro left, giving her a pointed look on his way out, Orihime went and fetched the peach cobbler and presented it to Momo. "For you, from an anonymous donor," she said without much gusto, still distracted.

Momo accepted the dessert plate, staring at the cobbler as if it had been God's personal gift to her. "Anonymous, huh?" She smiled, blushing and grabbing a spoon to dig into it with. Orihime rolled her eyes. Gosh darn, now she was going to think that it was from Aizen, rather than that sweet friend of hers. Ugh. This was why she tried to avoid getting caught up in other peoples' affairs, but Nel and Szayel must have rubbed off on her somewhat.

With Momo at the helm, she allowed herself to leave the podium to see if she could find Rangiku. Maybe the woman had stepped out while none of them had been looking, but she usually gave them a warning so that didn't seem likely. She had to have been in her office. What was she doing? Orihime walked down the short hallway, past the kitchen entrance and bathrooms. The office door was closed. She knocked on it tentatively. "Boss? You in here?" She tried the knob and it came open with a gentle push. It was dark inside. "Rangiku?"

A sniffle caught her attention. Orihime stepped further into the room. There didn't seem to be anybody in there, but she hadn't imagined that sound. Her eyes immediately fell onto the desk. "Rangiku," she moved around it and saw the woman's boot-clad feet sticking out, "Boss, if this is some silly game of hide and seek…" Orihime bent over and peered into the space. Her eyes widened.

The older woman sat huddled with her knees drawn to her chest, holding a photograph tightly between her fingers. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face red and covered with tears that had caused her makeup to run, her lips trembling, though compared to the tremors going through the rest of her body, that seemed like nothing. "Oh my God, Rangiku, what _happened_?" Orihime whispered, getting down onto her knees and scooting as close as she could to the distraught woman. Her strawberry blond tresses were flying wild, some clinging to her wet face. Orihime briefly glanced down at the picture. It was a younger Rangiku, grinning like she'd won the lottery, her arms around a silver-haired boy with a fox-like smile that Orihime had come to know far too well.

"Is he gone…?" Rangiku whispered, her voice pinched with fear.

"Who?" Orihime tore her gaze from the picture, focusing on the shaking woman.

"T-The man… the man that… that you and M-Momo were talking to," she said, fresh tears spilling over her eyelids as she held the photo even tighter. "Is he gone?"

Orihime reached out to smooth her hair away from her face. "You mean Doctor Aizen?"

"Yes!" Rangiku cried in a high-pitched whimper, choking out a sob and scooting even farther back into the desk corner. "Yes…" Her shoulders shook as she began to cry anew, her forehead resting on her knees. Orihime felt panic creeping up her spine.

"What's wrong, Boss?" She looked up towards the door, hoping that nobody would come by. "He's gone, yeah, but what does that matter?"

Rangiku's words were hard to make out, especially since she had to restart her sentence through all of her stuttering, and even then she would break down before she could get it all out. But eventually, after Orihime had gone to the bathroom and grabbed enough toilet paper to use as tissue, then closed the office door behind her when she returned, Rangiku was able to form the words that Orihime had hoped she would never, _ever_ have to hear from someone she loved. "That man… twenty years ago… h-he raped me…"

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Oh, and a lot of you thought that Aizen was a good guy, huh?

I think this chapter has done the talking for me. Click that review button and give me your I-knew-it's and How-could-you's!


	20. To Catch A Predator

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach, nor do I own the show that this chapter is named after.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**To Catch a Predator**

The night air was cold. It numbed her cheeks, dried her lips, robbed her of breath and converted what little she had left into clouds that left her in short pants. Her sneakers pounded against the pavement, her gaze fixed on the bright apartment complex with its newly hung Halloween decorations looming ahead of her like a watchtower in the night, the tallest building around for several blocks.

In that moment, Orihime Inoue was like a hurricane, ready to burst in through those double doors and rip apart everything she could get her hands on. But no, she was saving that rage, letting it build for only one person. Lucky for Ulquiorra, she wasn't out for his blood tonight – though if he got in her way she would save a little bit of her wrath for him. Enough to put him in the hospital, at least. She moved with determination, side-stepping families and couples and children and teenagers who didn't need to see the violence that was about to shake the foundations of Las Noches. How would she carry out this murder? Would she strangle him, beat him with something, or deliver a hard enough blow to his crotch to make his brain explode and shoot out of his nose? There were plenty of options. Oh, but she didn't want to go to jail. Therein lay her dilemma.

She would try very hard not to kill someone that night, she thought. Her self-control had been superb as of late. Perhaps it would keep her from ending up on national news, just under some presidential policy. That was something to look forward to, at least. Her feet carried her over the concrete steps that led up to the entrance of the building. Her target was now in sight. She could see him leaning against the counter, playing solitaire on his laptop computer, smiling. Did he not feel the ominous wind of her ire blowing in from the doors that swung open to flee her trembling hands? Was he not expecting divine punishment for his actions? Because if he wasn't, he must have been stupider than she thought; Orihime was about to wipe the smile off of his fucking face.

"_Gin_," she growled, her expression twisting into a menacing snarl that would have made a lion run for its life. Dragon lady, indeed. "_I'm going to kill you_."

So much for mercy.

…_An Hour Ago_…

Orihime had finally managed to coax Rangiku out from under the desk after reassuring her that Aizen was long gone. It was sickening, seeing such a strong woman revert to an almost childlike form, but she knew the feeling. If her father ever came back to life and waltzed into the diner, she would take cover under a desk and hunker down for the end of the world too. And what made it worse was that the entire time, Rangiku refused to let go of the picture. She held it to her chest as if it would eventually fuse with her heart. It took some gentle prodding, but she eventually let Orihime see it.

"That's Gin," she explained, pointing to the silver-haired boy who wore a surprised expression and had ears that were too big for his head. "This was taken when we were nine. Gosh, this photo is as old as you are, Hime." Rangiku didn't smile as she said this, and quickly drew the picture back to her chest. "We were best friends since preschool. We played together every day, we had inside jokes and games with rules that we made up on the fly… and during naptime, we'd always push our mats together and I'd end up snuggling with him so the teacher would have to break us apart." A tear slid down her cheek. "We went to the same schools, and we were in the same classes most of the time. We even promised that we would go to the same colleges and everything, but that didn't happen." Her chin quivered. "It just didn't happen…"

Orihime sat on the desk, having pushed papers and folders aside in a neat little pile so she could leave Rangiku the chair. The beautiful blonde had her legs tucked beneath her, her face covered in streaks of makeup and looking so distant, so utterly devastated that it made Orihime's chest hurt. "He's the one you dream about?"

Rangiku nodded and laughed humorlessly. "For years I've imagined what I would say if I ever saw him again, all the questions I would ask. I mean, it's been so long that I've pretty much answered them myself, but hearing it from him would be better. It'd bring closure, at least."

Orihime remembered the way Rangiku had stumbled towards Gin that hectic night at the beginning of the month, holding her hand out to him as if he were her lifeline in a stormy sea. That wasn't the look of someone who wanted closure; that was the look of a woman who'd fallen head over heels for a boy who no longer existed, a boy who was now a cruel man with an indifferent smile. But she couldn't think about that. She couldn't lose her temper here and let Rangiku know that Gin resided just two blocks down the street, and that if she sat at the café across from Las Noches with a pair of binoculars every afternoon, she could see him, living and breathing, no longer a product of her dreams. Not until he gave her a damn good reason not to spill the beans, anyway.

She decided to very tentatively switch the subject. "What about Doctor Aizen?" she asked quietly, though she may as well have screamed it by the way Rangiku's entire body tensed. The older woman held the photo even tighter, pursing her lips and shaking her head. "Rangiku, it's okay," Orihime slid off of the desk and put her arms around her boss's heaving shoulders. "It's alright," she whispered soothingly, "I know how you feel. Trust me, I _know_."

And because Rangiku didn't believe her, Orihime had to launch into the entire account of her past life. Starting with her father, she went through the rape years, the Sora years, the spiral of alcoholism and depression in between them and where she was now, prostitution included. If anything, as much as she hated to admit it, going from start to finish gave her a renewed appreciation for Ulquiorra, even if his rejection had stung her pride. By the time she had finished, Rangiku was bawling all over again, her arms fastened tightly around Orihime's neck. "I'm sorry," she muttered, pulling back to give her a tearful look. "Compared to you, I've had it easy."

Orihime shook her head. "No, you haven't. Nothing about this is easy, Boss. I chose to drink myself dumb, you chose to hide under your desk…"

"…and drink myself dumb," Rangiku said with a feeble smile. She was still shaking as she sat back in the chair and fixed her gaze on the college degree hanging from the office wall. She took a deep breath, and Orihime knew that she was preparing herself for the account that was to follow. "I was ten years old," she whispered, her eyes distant again, "and twenty years seems like a long time to recover, but – ha! – I guess it's not long enough." Her knees drew up to her chest again, the picture cradled lightly in her palm. "The family was friends of ours, and that man was their only son. He was in college studying to be a psychologist. Everyone was very proud of him, always asking his parents how he was doing while he was away, and he'd charm their pants off when he came back in the summers and winters.

"Anyway, we were having this big outing at the park, my parents and their friends. Gin hadn't been able to come because he had a dentist appointment. But that man offered to keep me company. He was so interested in me and what I did." She giggled weakly. "H-He said he was going to be a child psychologist, but I would never find out if he was lying or not." Her eyes widened fearfully. "He took me for a walk… we ended up in the woods, and there…" Her head lowered to her knees. Orihime waited patiently for her to calm down again, handing her a piece of the toilet paper she had gathered in the absence of tissue.

Rangiku accepted the wad but made no effort to wipe her face. "A-And the worst part was that nobody believed me. I told my parents and you know what they did? They grounded me!" She laughed a bit hysterically. "How could I say that about such a nice boy? Oh, I was too young to know what I was talking about! Surely I'd been watching too much Law and Order, just because it was me and Gin's favorite show…" Her lips pursed. "They _punished_ me for getting raped. Hadn't I already been punished enough?"

Orihime shook her head in disbelief. "That's awful… why would…?" she murmured, unable to continue, feeling her anger surge up again.

Rangiku smiled bitterly. "I kept it quiet for almost a year. But I had to tell Gin eventually. He'd noticed that I wasn't myself. Never tried to push me into saying anything, though I could tell he was dying to know." She wiped her tears with the tissue. "I didn't tell him who raped me. I was too scared to even think of that man, let alone say his name… but Gin believed me. He was the only one. He told me to go to the police, but I figured that if my own parents hadn't listened to me, why would the law?" Her expression darkened. "I let that bastard get away with it." She glared off into space, sighed sadly. "And then, as if things weren't bad enough, after I'd told Gin and constantly refused to go to the police, he started distancing himself from me."

Orihime's blood ran cold. The image of her friends turning their backs on her stood front and center in her mind.

"It started slowly, but soon we were hardly speaking. I tried so hard to keep in touch with him, and he just kept drifting further and further away. Then, before I knew it, high school was over and he was walking away from me for good." Rangiku reached her arm up and held the photograph above her head, against the light. "And that was that. No virginity, no best friend… just the bottom of a beer bottle and twelve years of vivid and beautiful, yet futile dreams." Her eyes drifted shut. "What is he doing now, I wonder? I know I shouldn't. I should hate his guts, but I just can't. No matter what he's done, he's still _Gin_. He's still the boy I grew up with, the boy that I stupidly imagined myself sleeping next to for the rest of my life…"

…

That boy, now a man, stood staring at Orihime in a fight-or-flight position, leaning more towards flight. The murderous intent in her eyes had caused him to jump out of his chair, away from his computer. They squared off against each, saying nothing until an old man who had been in the lounge stepped into the elevator. Then she was upon him, clearing the front desk so fast that she was hardly aware of her feet touching the floor. She grabbed Gin by the shirt collar and dragged him into the back room where the mail was sorted. He came along quietly, even when she violently threw him against the wall. "You _knew_," she growled, stabbing her finger into his chest. "You _knew _that Rangiku had gotten raped. You fucking _knew_."

Gin didn't flinch. "Yeah, I knew."

Orihime's eyes widened in surprise, then her anger cried out for mayhem. She wanted to rip open his stomach, grab a fistful of organs and pull them out until there was nothing left. "You… you don't care?" Her voice was high pitched and trembling. "She was your best friend and you _didn't care_?"

At this, he thought for a moment. "Oh, I cared," he drawled lazily. "I cared enough to beg her to tell somebody, to do something about it, but she didn't. So why stick around watching her get more and more depressed when she wouldn't help herself?" He shrugged, and then that cold, pitiless smile spread across his face. "I figured I'd just save myself the grief. Smart, huh?"

Orihime's fist flew forward like a bullet from a gun and slammed into his stomach. His eyes snapped open and he let out a pained wheeze as he doubled over, then dropped to his knees in front of her. Was she satisfied? Oh, hell no. She lifted her leg and sent the side of her foot flying into his skull, knocking him onto his side. He was conscious, but maybe that last hit had given him a concussion. Standing over him, she took a deep breath to calm herself. Brain damage seemed sufficient for now. Perhaps she would just beat the crap out of him every time she saw him. "The only reason that you're still alive," she growled, "is because Rangiku needs a _real _best friend, and I'm not going to jail for a scrotum-sucking bastard like you."

But once she had left the office, she realized that he could still call the police on her for assault. Ah, shit. She might as well give Ulquiorra a heads up. Now that she had dealt with Gin, however, there was another dangerous matter at hand. She thought back to the brief conversation she and Rangiku had had before she'd politely excused herself from the diner under the pretense of having "something to take care of".

"_He's dating Momo?" Rangiku gasped in horror, putting a hand to her mouth._

"_Yeah," Orihime glared darkly ahead. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"_

_Rangiku let out a low moan and covered her face. "We have to get her away from him! But how? It's obvious how deeply in love with him she is, and they've been together for so long…" The two sat in silence, considering their options. They couldn't go to the police without evidence; he hadn't committed any recent crimes that they knew of – Momo swore she was a virgin, and she didn't seem like the lying type, nor did she appear to be threatened by him. It was, sadly, a trusting and sweet relationship._

"_If he's just in it for the sex, then his feelings for her should be superficial. Which means that it would be easy to break them up if…" Orihime hit a sudden realization and snapped her fingers. "I've got it!"_

"_What is it?" Rangiku asked, her expression hopeful._

_Orihime grinned. "Well, considering my background I happen to have plenty of experience in the seduction department."_

"_Oh, Hime, no!" Rangiku cried. "It could be dangerous!"_

_Orihime rolled her eyes. "Please, I've dealt with scarier men than Doctor Aizen." She hopped off of the desk, straightening out her skirt. "Seriously, all I need to do is bend over, show him some cleavage, bat my eyelashes and flirt a bit. He'll be dumping Momo in a heartbeat." Unless he was exclusively into little girls, in which case that would be a problem. But now that she thought about it, he _had _been staring at her chest._

_Rangiku chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. "But if he just dumps her out of nowhere, she'll be so lost and confused. I think we need to show her what kind of man he is. We have to set him up somehow."_

"_We'll invite her to the Halloween party." Orihime said, the idea already coming together nicely in her head. "She'll see him flirting with me, dump him herself – though you'll have to explain things to her later so she won't hate me – and from there it's smooth sailing." She held her hand out to help Rangiku off of her chair. "What do you say, Boss?"_

Rangiku had reluctantly agreed to the plan, which meant that Orihime was going to have to channel her inner prostitute for the rest of the month, as well as her acting skills. After all, if the plan was going to work, _everyone _had to be convinced that she was really after Aizen, Ulquiorra included. This, on top of what kind of costume she was going to wear on Halloween, was enough to keep her mind off of Gin for a while. She closed her eyes as the elevator took her up to the fourth floor, thinking of how sad Rangiku had looked while talking about him. If he hadn't been such an asshole, it would have been nice to fix things between them.

The smell of popcorn reached her nose before she opened the apartment door, but once she was inside it invaded her nostrils like a sensory army. On the couch, Nel sat cuddling up to Grimmjow, saying something endearing in French while he glared at the television screen and grunted in response. Ulquiorra then emerged from the kitchen with a huge bowl of popcorn. "Ah, Ms. Inoue, welcome home." He still wore the black turtleneck, though the green scarf was nowhere to be found; probably in that colorful closet of his.

"What's going on here?" she asked, removing her shoes. "Movie night?"

"_Oui!" _Nel got up and ran to greet her. "I pass all of midterms, so we are celebrating!" she cried, embracing her warmly. "You smell like food, Hime."

Orihime pushed her back. "Oh God, let me shower first." She untied and removed her work apron, folding it over her arm. "What kind of classes are you taking, anyway?"

Nel turned a thoughtful look to the ceiling, tapping her chin. "Oh, let's see… molecular biology, organic chemistry, human anatomy, technical writing, and third-year sign language!" she rattled off cheerfully. Orihime stared at her, opened her mouth, then closed it again. "I am studying to be geneticist!" the French girl added helpfully.

"Okay, cool." She was a genius, and yet she lacked the common sense to leave her cheating boyfriend. Yes, Orihime could believe that. "What movie are we watching?"

"Bootleg _Inception_." Ulquiorra held out the popcorn for her. "Pre-shower snack? It's homemade." Orihime reached out to grab a handful, and their gazes met for two tense seconds before she thanked him, broke eye contact and walked around him, headed for the hall. Things were not going to be awkward between them; she'd make sure of it. Besides, she was supposed to be gaga over Aizen, anyway. Not that it would be too hard; the man was rather handsome. She just had to remember that under that kind demeanor lay a sick, rapist pedophile… specifically one who had traumatized one of her best friends for life and was now after her little sister figure. Oh, it was going to be very hard not to push him off of the roof of the building. Which reminded her…

"By the way, Ulquiorra, if the police show up, tell them I fled the country!" she yelled.

In the living room, Ulquiorra nearly dropped the bowl of popcorn onto Grimmjow's head. What on Earth had the woman done _now_? He sighed and decided not to question it, instead moving to take his place on the far right side of the long sofa while Nel murmured sweet nothings in Grimmjow's ear on the left. There was just enough room for Orihime, though it would be a tight squeeze.

It would not be awkward, he told himself. She seemed in much better spirits now, so either his words hadn't bothered her as much as he thought they had – which was a little insulting, but he had no right to complain – or she'd found a distraction. Judging by her last statement, it probably wasn't a healthy distraction, either.

The police never came – Ulquiorra would have been quite annoyed if they had – and before long, Orihime emerged from the shower and plopped down next to him on the couch. This was where he began to think that perhaps he'd shot himself in the foot with their earlier conversation: She was dressed in the white shirt that she had originally stolen from him, long pajama bottoms, her hair was wet and she smelled absolutely delicious. He couldn't quite place his finger on it. What was that stuff he'd seen in the bathroom… rose shampoo, maybe, with an accompanying body wash? Hmm. It was unfortunately delectable. He tried to lean as far from her and as close to the popcorn as he could, but when Grimmjow and Nel stole the bowl from him, he was left with nothing to shield him from the sinful mix of feminine scents that Orihime had bathed in.

What was that website where people listed reasons that they hated their lives? He would have to pay it a visit sometime.

Meanwhile, Orihime was far too sidetracked to pay the movie much attention. She was trying to think of times that she usually saw Doctor Aizen around the building; when he went to get his mail, when he left for work, or when he came back from work. She'd have to corner him every chance she got, but she couldn't be alone with him. She sighed, stealing the popcorn bowl from Grimmjow – who'd been holding it away from Nel, complaining that all the butter would make her breasts even larger – and put it down in her lap. There was a good chance that this plan wouldn't work, but there was only one way to find out.

Starting tomorrow, she was going to put it into action.

In the mean time, she found the perfect opportunity to get back at Ulquiorra for the chewed gum, the stolen kiss, and the rejection. The moment he reached for the popcorn, she lifted the bowl out of reach and his hand made contact with her crotch region. Of course, Grimmjow and Nel had looked to see why she had moved the popcorn and caught everything. There was an awkward silence – hadn't Ulquiorra _just _resolved to make things as comfortable as possible? – in which no one spoke, no one moved, and everyone let the gears in their heads process what was happening. "My, my," Orihime said dryly, "I never took you for the perverted type, Ulquiorra."

"Holy shit," Grimmjow blinked, staring openly, "way to grow some balls, man."

Ulquiorra came to his senses and retracted his hand so quickly that he nearly hit himself in the face, then lost his balance and fell off of the sofa. Eyes wide, his face almost as red as one of the many tomatoes in the refrigerator, he lay stunned on the carpeted floor while Grimmjow burst into hysterical laughter and Orihime nonchalantly placed the bowl back onto her lap. Satisfied, she shoveled a handful of popcorn into her mouth, trying not to grin as Nel asked her if she was alright, then proceeded to start yelling at Ulquiorra in French. She really did wish she understood what the girl was saying, as it was only making Grimmjow laugh even harder.

Finally Ulquiorra seemed to find himself within his spiraling thoughts and got to his feet, snatching the popcorn away from Orihime and slamming the bowl into Grimmjow's face before stalking out of the room. He needed to wash his hands. By the time the whole ordeal had ended, Orihime was the only one still watching the movie. Grimmjow's nose was bleeding, Nel was hysterical, and she could hear the bathroom sink running down the hall accompanied by the sounds of vigorous scrubbing.

Ah, the feeling of victory. Orihime leaned back, thoroughly enjoying the moment. It was the relative calm before her own private storm. She was going to take on a potentially dangerous rapist with a doctorate degree in psychology… by herself.

That wasn't nerve-racking at all!

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Short chapter is short. -frowns-

What happens in the next exciting episode of Dragonball… err, Muse? Hmm… I wonder what a jealous Ulquiorra looks like… Do you wonder, too? Then click that button and let's find out together!


	21. The Green Eyed Monster

**A/N: In this chapter we get an enormous look into Ulquiorra's brain! **You have no idea how fun this was to write.

**Disclaimer: **No ownership here!

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**The Green Eyed Monster**

There were many moments in Ulquiorra's life that had passed by quietly, without notice: school days, birthdays, afternoons at home, the orphanage, the silent years. He couldn't count them, because they simply weren't important enough to remember. It was like trying to recall when he had last clipped his toenails, which he currently sat scrutinizing, wondering how long the white part needed to be before it would start hurting when he put on shoes. But then suddenly – days, months, or even an entire decade later – something would happen, and these otherwise forgotten moments would gain immense importance. And when this happened, those moments tended to become sharper and clearer in his mind's eye. The sun would be brighter, the voices richer, the tastes more exquisite – or foul, depending on what the memory was. And he knew that it was not his toenails that he was interested in, but rather, the sudden recollection of the morning when things had started to change.

He closed his eyes. There should have been darkness behind the lids; instead, he saw the first floor lobby, and if he turned his head ever so slightly… ah, there she was. Ms. Inoue was yelling at him for some reason. It might have had something to do with the prank he had pulled to get back at her for what he would hereafter refer to as the Unpleasant Occurrence on Movie Night – huh, maybe he should have found a better name for it. In trying to come up with one, he had blocked out whatever Ms. Inoue was saying… ah, yes, the prank.

Missing Chair Number Six had not been missing at all. In fact, it could more accurately be labeled as Missing Chair Number Two, the one that had been laid out in the center of the hallway, in pieces. The clever girl had dug up his toolbox and taken the whole thing apart. Unfortunately, destruction was often easier than creation, and having misplaced the instruction manual for the assembly of the chairs several years ago – when would he ever need it? – Ulquiorra had found himself unable to put Missing Chair Number Two back together. Not the way it should have been, anyway. And so he had done his best to reassemble the thing – conveniently leaving out the screws that held the parts together – in the place of Ms. Inoue's Chair, aka Missing Chair Number Four, the one that had somehow been wedged atop the refrigerator. With that done, he had decided to make her pancakes for breakfast as a peace offering for the Movie Night Malady – ah, that was much more poetic; he approved of that title.

The scent of food had drawn Ms. Inoue out of the bathroom like a grizzly bear to honey, or a shark to spilled blood, or a vulture to a carcass; any violent and unpleasant animal that he could compare her to. Her gray eyes widened and seemed to shimmer in the morning sunlight as she cried out in delight, falling unsuspectingly into his snare. He had maintained his composure while she'd retrieved the syrup from the refrigerator and taken it to the table, spouting some exaggeration about how amazing he was – which had done wonders for his emaciated ego – before dropping right into the broken chair and falling straight through to the carpeted floor, landing on her rear with a shriek of surprise.

And Ulquiorra, being the bastard that he was, had glanced up at her nonchalantly, then politely informed her that Missing Chair Number Two was still broken.

Thus, the reason she had been yelling at him that morning as they took a stroll to the lobby to get the mail. The silly woman liked to think that she was going to get something. Had she forgotten that she was still paying rent on an apartment elsewhere, and hadn't bothered to have her mail forwarded? He'd just noticed the glare of animosity that she was sending in Gin's direction when, out of the blue, her face lit up almost as brightly as it had when she'd seen the pancakes.

Suspicious Detail Number One: Something had just made Ms. Inoue as happy as his specially blended cinnamon pancake mix… or rather, some_one_.

Being that this had not happened, ever, Ulquiorra had turned his head in time to see her skip across the lobby to talk to Doctor Aizen, who had just stepped off of the elevator. And for some reason, he had found himself struggling to remember what his mail key felt like as he watched the interaction between them. Hmm. Her head was tilted at an angle that would imply cuteness and curiosity; her weight rested on one side of her body, prompting her hip to jut out; and her arms were crossed innocently behind her back, which would leave the view of her chest unobstructed.

Suspicious Detail Number Two: Ms. Inoue was flirting with a man twice her age.

But he doubted that she was anywhere near as aware of this as he was. Ms. Inoue had a tendency to do these things without noticing, so he dismissed it as a fault of her character. Besides, she came back shortly after, a flush on her cheeks and a smile upon her lips. "Doctor Aizen was headed to work," she said, looking over her shoulder to watch him walk out of the building. "He's pretty fly for an old guy. Too bad he isn't single." Here she had chewed her bottom lip, her brow furrowing in consternation.

Suspicious Detail Number Three: What the _fuck_.

Ulquiorra's eyes opened. He was back in the living room, the present. Ms. Inoue was at work, no doubt gossiping with the busty blonde and the high school girl while the three of them shirked their duties. Maybe he would take advantage of the peace and nap for a bit. After all, he'd been finding it harder and harder to sleep at night, what with all the errant thoughts running through his mind.

How long had it been since that morning? Two weeks, he guessed, reaching into his pocket for his phone and checking the date. October 26th. Halloween was almost upon them, and he'd been debating getting a costume for the party this year, but Ms. Inoue hadn't liked his bed-sheet ghost idea. She insisted that he should wear something that _didn't _cover his face; it would be much scarier that way. He sighed almost sadly. That was the last time she had truly graced him with her attention.

His eyes closed again, and this time, he was hiding behind a potted plant in the lobby. What had this woman done to him? Why was _he _hiding? If she was going to flirt so shamelessly, she should have done it in private. But no, there she was, standing next to Doctor Aizen, batting her eyes and giggling like an airhead. He remembered her laughing like that when she had been upset, but the mirth on her face was anything but false. She looked almost _happy_ flirting with the older man. And was it just him, or was Gin – who sported a suspicious bruise near his temple – watching them somewhat worriedly from his place at the front desk?

No. He must have been imagining things, he thought as Lilynette emerged from the elevator, glanced up at him and asked why he was standing behind a plant. He told her he was helping Ms. Inoue look for a lost earring. The girl frowned skeptically, drawing out a loud "uh-huh" before moving on. Ulquiorra decided to make his escape then, but the moment he stepped out of cover, Ms. Inoue spotted him and walked over, grinning like an idiot. She claimed that she was going back upstairs and wanted to walk with him. _Not with Doctor Aizen? _He bit his tongue to refrain from asking. That was supposed to be none of his business.

Ulquiorra opened his eyes, staring at the black television screen. Ms. Inoue could flirt with whoever she wanted to. It was a free country. He didn't have the right to police all of her actions, even if they did live together. Besides, if she started dating Doctor Aizen, she could finally move out of his apartment and – oww. Why did that make his chest hurt?

Oh, right. He didn't want her to go. It was a silly thought; this living arrangement had always been temporary. Once she was strong enough to be on her own – and she was, so technically she'd been mooching for at least three weeks, not that he minded – she would leave. His life would go back to normal, only now he would have all the inspiration in the world to keep him going. He'd just be lonely.

Ridiculous. He had never been lonely before. In fact, he preferred his solitude. He could walk around naked for a straight up week and no one would be around to complain. He could make as much noise as he wanted in the morning without worrying that he would wake someone up. He could invite Grimmjow and Starrk and Gin over and they could talk about how troublesome women were, then do manly things like drink beer and play video games and belch. Wait, Ulquiorra didn't drink.

And then, of course, there was the obvious reason that he didn't want her leaving, particularly with another man.

His eyes closed again, and he found himself sitting on a park bench in the cold, his gaze focused on Ms. Inoue, who was at a distance with Doctor Aizen. They were on a date. How disgraceful! Hadn't she herself said that the man had a girlfriend? Was Ms. Inoue a home wrecker? Maybe he would start referring to her as such, just to get her annoyed and focused on him again. It was unsettling when she wasn't focused on him. He didn't like it one – oh shit, she was coming his way!

Ulquiorra could have stood from the bench and run, but at this point that would only alert her to his own suspicious behavior. A petite woman with two black pigtails was jogging toward him, ear buds blocking her out from the world with music. She would have to do. He grabbed her wrist, apologized and thanked her, then yanked her down next to him. The woman must have been too stunned to do anything, which was good for him as Ms. Inoue had just noticed them… Doctor Aizen too, but he was the enemy, so he wasn't important. "Ulquiorra?"

"Oh, hello Ms. Inoue. I didn't think you would be here too, enjoying this cloudless winter day," he spun off casually, then nodded once in Aizen's direction. "Good afternoon, Doctor."

"Who's your lady friend?" the psychologist asked. The woman, still in a state of shock, had yet to speak. Luckily she was looking up at both of them with the sort of expression one would find on a person who had just been discovered in a tryst.

Ulquiorra glanced at the iPod strapped to her upper arm. There was a name written on it in those sparkling, sticky pebbles that mall kiosks sold for decorating. "Loly," he said flatly, patting her on the back. "She's my date."

At this, Ms. Inoue had smiled widely, holding her hand out to the woman. "I'm Orihime. Nice to meet you! Ulquiorra didn't tell me he had a date." The woman shook her hand companionably, perhaps still too bewildered to say anything.

"She's shy," Ulquiorra told them.

"Ah, that's alright. Aizen and I were going out for waffles, so I'll catch you later," Ms. Inoue had said as normally as if she'd been telling him that it was raining outside. Then the happy couple had walked off, her arm looping through Aizen's as they faded into the distance without so much as an invitation for a double date. Wait, that was a good thing. Thoroughly irritated, Ulquiorra had then turned to apologize to the poor jogger again, only to be dealt a swift blow to face.

He opened his eyes, one of which sported a healing bruise, and found himself staring at the television screen once more. What was it with women and hitting him in the face? That was his best feature!

Now then, this situation with Aizen and Ms. Inoue probably wouldn't have bothered him so much – he was lying to himself again – if the kiss had never taken place. Ulquiorra scowled, standing from the couch and walking over to the piano, which had seemed lonely in the last few days. Ugh, that insufferable woman was even making him neglect music in his efforts to stalk… err, make sure Aizen was treating her well. He lifted the cover off of the keys and, after a moment of consideration, began practicing his scales. Up and down, back and forth, his fingers flew at an almost maddening speed.

Ulquiorra had kissed her, and then put his hand in her face, and then told her to forget that it had ever happened. A normal reaction from her would have been to give him the black eye that Loly had delivered. But Ms. Inoue had sat there and accepted the terms, and then _moved on to another guy_. That wasn't a normal reaction, was it? Most women gave themselves time to grieve… but she didn't like him, at least in the romantic sense. Then why had she kissed him in return? Had it been just a reflex, a knee-jerk reaction to the situation?

Hmph. He should kick her out… no, that would be childish, revealing and counterproductive. The goal was to keep her from leaving, not usher her through the door. And if that meant sitting on his hands while she ran off and dated Doctor Aizen, then so be it.

He wouldn't like it, but he would do it for her sake.

…

"One, two, three, four! Pick up those legs, ladies! Very good, Orihime! Give it all of that energy!" Luppi cried as he coached a group of girls through a zumba session. He joined them in their dance as the upbeat hip-hop song remix made the walls of the apartment shake. Orihime sort of felt bad for his neighbors.

She had taken up zumba with Nel in the last two weeks in order to vent her frustrations in healthier ways. After all, she'd been sneaking around behind Momo's back with Aizen for quite a while now. And as she had suspected, the bastard was all gung-ho for an affair. Whenever she put on her most pathetic voice and whined that he should break up with 'that silly teenager', he promised her that he would when the time was right. He didn't want the poor thing committing suicide.

Orihime growled and stamped her feet against the floor. Maybe she should have taken kickboxing instead. Dancing was fun and all, but not when one was quite as angry as she was. She had almost hit Nel in the face on accident.

There were plenty of reasons for her anger, of course. She was beginning to learn that Doctor Aizen was not only a bastard, but a shameless one at that. He claimed that his only purpose for keeping Momo around was for the sake of her own mental health. She was a fragile girl, he told her, and adorable to boot. Like a little puppy dog, a mere pet. Orihime guessed that she wasn't the only person Aizen had cheated on Momo with; she could see it in the way that women looked at him whenever they were out on dates. He had this air about him that attracted them instantly: handsome, successful, respected. Ugh! If only they knew!

So far she had managed to avoid being alone with him. Whenever they went out on dates, it had to be somewhere public. She never went back to his apartment with him, laughing and suggesting that they didn't want the neighbors getting the wrong idea, though he obviously didn't care. She wouldn't even get in a car with him – walking to a destination was better; it helped digest food after dinner, and she could cuddle with him if it was cold. There was a perfect line-up of excuses to keep him from suspecting her of anything fishy.

And of course, she reported everything she learned to Rangiku, who would have gone out and killed him herself had she not been so terrified. They were sure to keep Momo from finding out; she was still in full-on love sick mode, bragging about how Aizen had taken her out to the movies the other day, though he'd gotten ill and had to leave early – to meet Orihime, but she didn't know that. The overeager prick hadn't even offered her a ride home.

Orihime sighed. She hated Aizen with a burning passion, but she had to keep up her front until the night of the Halloween party, which Momo had readily agreed to come to. She was even going to bring her friend Toshiro along. Good. That way she'd have a shoulder to cry on, at least.

Gosh darn those prince charming types. This was the reason Orihime had never gone for them; they _always _had something to hide, and more often than not, it was another damsel in distress.

Then again, she had never really considered what sort of guy she would deem acceptable to date. They were all a pack of sex-driven liars, the only exception being Ulquiorra, but he had a horrible personality. That cute girl he'd been on a date with must have realized this, if the black eye he had come home with was anything to judge by. Poor thing. No one really appreciated his twisted sense of humor, did they? Sure she owed him revenge for the broken chair thing, but she couldn't deny the fact that it had been an ingenious prank.

The song ended and Orihime nearly collapsed from exhaustion. This was a good thing; now she didn't have the energy to snap at or hit anyone. She'd seen Gin around a few times, but he was always sure to duck behind something for cover in case she let loose on him again. Grabbing the small towel she had brought along to wipe sweat off of the back of her neck, she looked over at Nel, who didn't seem tired in the slightest. "Hey, I'm about ready to pass out. Are you going to stay for the whole session?"

Nel nodded eagerly. "I need to burn calories," she said, prodding her chest. "I have been eating too many sweets."

Orihime rolled her eyes. "You're fine. I'll see you later, okay?" She thanked Luppi for the instruction, to which he replied by thanking her for her enthusiasm, then walked out of the apartment. Well, it's a good thing the building manager was never there. She would hate to be out of a stress reliever if Luppi's little studio was shut down.

On her way up the stairs, she ran into Szayel, who had been muttering to himself with an annoyed look on his face. He brightened instantly when he saw her. "Orihime! What's with all the sweat?"

"Zumba with Luppi," she waved her hand dismissively, "but how about you? Sounds like something's bothering you."

"Ah, well, we have a hypochondriac living on the second floor. The poor woman is always calling me because she thinks the mole on her leg is getting bigger and worries that she might have skin cancer. But it has not grown; not since the time I measured it last week, and the week before that." Szayel shook his head. "And it was a busy day before I even went to see her. Baraggan Luisenbarn is having breathing issues, and Ms. Harribel wanted to talk to me about plastic surgeons in the area."

"Whoa, wait, what?" Orihime held her hand up to stop him.

Szayel pointed to the side of his face. "She wants to see if she can do anything about her scar." He shrugged. "Her insurance won't cover it, and it's an expensive procedure. I told her to keep the scar because it gives her character, but of course she doesn't think so." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Let's see… ah, yes. I had to pay Ulquiorra a visit because he insisted that his eye should have been better by now. I'll let _you_ handle that one."

Orihime smiled. "I'll see what I can do." She patted him on the shoulder. "Take it easy, okay?" They parted ways, but before long she stopped and leaned over the stair railing. "Hey, Szayel, what are you going to be for the Halloween party?"

His pink-haired head appeared from the flight below her. "I'll give you one guess."

Doctor, of course. She giggled and continued her way up to the fourth floor, her legs complaining the entire time, but there was no way she was going to take the elevator for such a short walk. Upon reaching the apartment, she heard piano music from within. She stood outside of the front door as the notes traveled up and down, changing so rapidly that she wondered just how fast Ulquiorra's fingers had to be moving to keep that pace. The sound was pretty harsh, though. Was he angry about something?

Taking that as a sign for caution, she opened the door and slipped inside quietly. Ulquiorra looked up at her, his hands pausing over the keys. "Welcome back."

"Having fun?" she asked as she removed her shoes and picked them up, heading for the closet. When his only response was to stare at her flatly, she clicked her tongue. "Okay. I'm going to shower, but it's hot as hell so I'm leaving the door open. Walk by and I'll kill you."

"While I'm curious to see the leathery scales beneath your borrowed human skin, I wouldn't dare to invade your privacy," Ulquiorra said tonelessly. When no flying shoes came to add another bruise to his face, he turned his head to look at her… in time to be nailed by her sweaty tank top. He pinched it with two fingers and removed it from his head, but by then she had disappeared down the hall. "How uncouth!" he yelled after her.

Sighing, Ulquiorra stood from the piano bench and carried the tank top – at arm's length – into the laundry room. He took a moment to try and remember what life had been like before there were two clothing piles, one labeled with a picture of a tomato, the other labeled with a picture of a crudely drawn dragon. Angling his head to the side, he closed one eye so that the dragon pile would be cut out of his line of sight. Hmm… it just wasn't the same. Besides, one was an odd number. He liked that there were two piles. It was more comfortable, more whole.

Something came to mind, then. He dropped the tank top into the dragon pile and walked back to the piano, taking a seat on the bench and examining the keys he had left unattended. What note was he starting on? _This one._ He tapped it lightly. Yes, that was perfect.

He considered the feeling that had bothered him earlier, when he had mulled over the possibility of being alone again, and then he started back on that first note and began to improvise. He tried to capture what he saw: a six-person dining table set for one, a single laundry pile, a meticulously clean apartment, a half-empty refrigerator, and the many solitary days that stretched ahead in a life with an indefinite end. No one to amuse or be amused by, no one to talk to, no one to tip-toe past in the morning. No one to make dinner for, no one to play music for, no one to share that big, empty space with.

How had he done it before? Was that sort of life really so satisfying, or had he been lying to himself the entire time, refusing to admit that something other than his inspiration was missing?

All of the sudden, he found himself unable to continue playing. His hands reluctantly lifted off of the keys, withdrawing to his sides. He had no idea how this composition was supposed to end. Pulling away from the piano, he tried to suppress his frustration as Orihime emerged from the bathroom in her pajamas. "So soon?" he asked, gesturing to her attire. "The sun hasn't even set yet."

Orihime shrugged. "I don't plan on going anywhere else. What were you playing?" she asked, drifting past him in a cloud of rose-scented body wash that scattered his thoughts.

"I don't know," Ulquiorra confessed, staring down at his hands and trailing behind her. No… it wasn't their fault, he thought as he sat next to her on the sofa wordlessly. She reached over him for the remote control, the scent literally slapping him in the face as her red hair tickled his nose. These were mental things; his inability to form the rest of the piece; his inability to think straight when she was so close, smelling so good; the dangers of his inability to think straight around her when he _needed _that control now more than ever. He just couldn't picture this situation coming to an end. He didn't want it to. The thought of anything or anyone taking her away from him made him want to hit the wall again.

But he had to check himself, because at the end of the day, he would much rather Aizen steal her away than have her driven to leave by his own stupidity.

"I ran into Szayel on the stairs," Orihime said, failing to notice his tense silence, "he said you'd been complaining about your eye."

Ulquiorra nodded, his thoughts spiraling into dangerous territory. Why had he ever brought her home? Why hadn't he just left her in the alley where he'd found her? Well, no… he had no issues with bringing her to the apartment. The better question here was, how had such a careful person allowed himself to get carried away and form some silly attachment to a drunk woman with a vulgar tongue and a filthy body? He couldn't have expected it to happen. He'd never had problems with treating other people like tools, like he had that unsuspecting jogging woman who had rightfully punched him for the violation of her personal space.

This shouldn't have bothered him. She was an object, right? He was pulling a Lowell Ingram and using her. Wasn't that what all artists did? They would pick up rocks that for whatever reason inspired them to write or sing or draw, then once they were finished with it they would chuck it out the window. He'd done it to Natalia and had walked away feeling better about himself. Ms. Inoue was the rock, now. Whatever she was getting into with Aizen, it shouldn't have mattered, because her leaving had been inevitable from the start.

"Poor baby has a booboo," Orihime grinned wickedly at him. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. "It still is pretty dark though," she said, reaching up to lightly touch the bruised skin.

That soft hair, those silvery eyes, the creamy skin, the feisty personality, and the improvements she had made since coming to Las Noches… they were all the features of a mere object that had long since served its purpose; an object that he couldn't let go of, as useless to him as it was. But as hard as he tried to beat this into the forefront of his mind, as easy to accept as this should have been, it just wasn't sticking.

A mere object had never made him second-guess himself. A mere object had never inspired him for more than one occasion. A mere object had never earned his respect by socking him.

Ah, damn it. He was now beginning to recall a number of stories in which musicians, poets, painters, and writers had become slaves to their muse…

Orihime retracted her arm, but the moment she did so she found herself pressed into the back of the sofa by two large hands resting on her shoulders. Caught completely off guard, her gaze was now trapped by Ulquiorra's, who had somehow moved in front of her. She would have asked him what he was doing had the intensity of his green eyes not twisted her tongue into a neat little bow. He was scowling, looking at her as if trying to figure something out, or get a message across. A million things went through her mind at once: Why was he looking at her like that? What was he thinking? Was he mad at her? Had she done something wrong? Was this about Aizen? Did he not approve? Oh God, was he going to kiss her again? Why in the world did that get her excited?

And then, his hands slipped away. He turned his back on her and walked out of the living room without so much as a word of parting. Orihime felt the air rush from her lungs, the energy leave her body in one exhale, causing her to fall over onto her side.

Damn it all to hell. Her legs kicked and she let out a frustrated whine. What _now_? She grabbed the cushion and pressed it into her face, which felt oddly warm. Was she _blushing_? Argh! If she wasn't so determined to keep up her Aizen-infatuated façade, she would have gone after Ulquiorra and demanded answers. How could he ask her to put The Incident past her when he was going to be doing confusing shit like that?

Halloween could not come fast enough.

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Look at that! Almost an entire chapter of being inside of Ulquiorra's brain, except when it mattered the most! I know you all hate me, but I promise I'll make it up to you. How?

Next Chapter: …is going to be _super long_. And chock full of things that everyone will like!


	22. Where There's Smoke

**Warning: **This is the longest chapter in the story. Please take a bathroom break, eat something, get some sleep. D:

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach or any other copyrighted material.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Where There's Smoke**

After all of their planning, Orihime was only disappointed that she hadn't bought watches for her and Rangiku to synchronize.

Currently, she stood in her boss's small, one-bedroom apartment, waiting for her to finish putting on her Halloween costume. Rangiku lived on a quiet side of the city close to Urahara's grocery store and bakery. She'd been surprised to learn that Orihime's old apartment was only a few blocks away. They had probably crossed paths once or twice before they had even met, which threw them both for a loop. Orihime looked outside at the setting sun, the neighborhood nearly abandoned. It was the eerie Halloween calm before zombies, witches, ghosts, fairies, princesses, superheroes and vampires took to the streets – clutching the hands of their parents or traveling in groups – in the eternal pursuit for tricks and treats.

Orihime's costume had been put together by Nel and Luppi after much consideration of her body type and facial features. They had been caught between a nurse theme – to be Szayel's wing-girls, as he would be a doctor – and a princess theme, so they had ended up making her an elaborate, high-collared white and black gown that covered most of her body. She had insisted on a modest design, wanting to make sure that Doctor Aizen knew he wasn't getting anything from her; not now, not ever. Nel was going to wear a similar dress, but Rangiku had claimed the design to be too boring and went for something flashier.

"How do I look?" She emerged from the bathroom then, wearing a white floor-length evening gown that hugged every one of her curves and shimmered faintly in the light. "Not exactly princess material, but I just couldn't leave it at the store."

Orihime laughed. "After the performance you gave at the bar, I'd say that it suits you. Pretend you're a lounge singer! Maybe if I ask Ulquiorra nicely he'll let you lay on his piano and give us a show." Oh, this was going to be _amazing_. Gin could hide all he wanted, but there was no way he would avoid seeing Rangiku tonight, and he was going to rip his heart out and eat it with a spoon at the sight of her.

Rangiku rolled her eyes. "Whatever." She turned to her reflection and teased her hair a bit. "You sure you want to go through with this, girly? What if Momo chooses to take Aizen's side?"

"She can't be that stupid." Orihime walked over and butted Rangiku out of the way with her hip to see if her costume was still alright, resulting in a power struggle over the mirror that only ended when _La Cucaracha _began playing loudly from the other side of the room. Rangiku looked at Orihime questioningly as she answered her phone. "Yes?" she asked sweetly.

"_When you said you were going to put on your costume, I didn't think it would take two hours," _Ulquiorra's annoyed voice replied. Orihime half-listened to him, making talking gestures with her hand and funny faces at Rangiku the entire time. _"You could have given me a warning. Now I've been forced to retrieve the refreshments, and would you believe that there are no two-liter Cokes _anywhere _around here?"_

"What did you expect? Do you know how many people are having Halloween parties tonight?" Orihime examined her nails. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine Ulquiorra driving around town in his costume. It had taken a considerable amount of time to convince him to join their little theme, but finally they had gotten him into a long black cape, some heavy-duty boots, a half-mask for the sake of cracking _Phantom of the Opera_ jokes, and persuaded him to carry around a plastic sword. He was, after all, the villain in their little fairy tale. Grimmjow was playing the part of the heroic musketeer coming to liberate the princesses from the demon king. The fact that he was wearing an enormous feathered hat was what had swayed Ulquiorra to join in. If he wasn't the only ridiculous-looking one, he was fine.

"_If I have to drive all the way to the north side just to hit up Wal-Mart…_"

"Shut up and focus on the road. Talking while you're driving is dangerous." Orihime promptly hung up on him and tucked her phone into a pocket hidden within her dress. She was still upset over The Sofa Incident, which he hadn't even tried to talk to her about. No, the idiot had scraped up the nerve to go on like nothing had happened.

So she'd put all of his shoes in the washing machine, his laptop in the oven, and had switched out the contents of his dresser with the contents of his closet – with the exception of his underwear, which she had stuffed in the mailbox downstairs. This in turn had prompted him to put her phone number in the newspaper claiming that she was offering kinky maid cleaning services… in the spirit of Halloween, of course. Orihime had still been getting calls that morning. "Hope you're not in the mood for Coke," she said to Rangiku.

The older woman shook her head. "How could I possibly have caffeine on a night like this?" She crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing her arms as if she were cold. "I've got goosebumps, I'm so nervous."

Orihime smiled at her sympathetically. "Don't worry. Aizen won't see you with this," she reached for a curtain of fabric that had been draped over the back of the couch and placed it over Rangiku's head and shoulders. "And for the finishing touch," she grabbed a brooch that she and Nel had found at the craft store and fastened it to the makeshift veil. "There! Now you look like a new bride!" she said, clapping Rangiku on the back. The fabric was out far enough to hide her face from anyone looking at her from the side.

Rangiku smiled at her. "Thanks Hime. But be careful tonight, okay?" She shook her head. "I'd never forgive myself if that bastard hurt you too."

"What's he going to do? The man's got arthritis in his back." Orihime grinned. "Trust me. It'll be fine. In the mean time, we're going to have fun! Rumor has it that there's going to be a ton of candy for the tykes that we can help ourselves to." Thinking about it now, she realized that she hadn't gone trick-or-treating or even dressed up for Halloween since Sora had died. She hoped that, wherever he was, he could see that she was doing much better. "We'll bring Nel back here when the party's over and see what happens when we mix melted chocolate and alcohol."

"Ha! Fine by me."

…

Ulquiorra stood glaring at an empty shelf. The price sticker beneath it happily informed him that this was where the Coke should have been. He'd been standing there for at least a minute now, and he was sure that the teenage girls arguing over which soda they should get – Dr. Pepper, Orange Crush or Big Red – were starting to think that he was going to snap at any given moment.

But Ulquiorra was a patient person, and he always got his appointed tasks done, but he was also a man and would therefore rather lick the floor than ask somebody for assistance. And so he pivoted on his heel, the long cape of his costume fluttering behind him, and made his way out of the store. _Next_…

…

By the time Orihime and Rangiku had made the last of their party preparations, the sun had sunken below the horizon and the streets were beginning to fill with sugar-obsessed children. Rangiku drove carefully, already on the edge of her sanity and not wanting to run over a poor werewolf. "Geez, some of these costumes are _morbid_," Orihime muttered, cringing away from the sight of a little girl covered in fake blood. "What the hell is wrong with these kids' parents?"

Rangiku smiled. "Why don't you show them how it's done?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've never thought about having kids of your own?" It was an innocent question, but Orihime almost immediately burst out laughing. Children? With the life she had lived for so long? She covered her mouth and apologized.

"Sorry," she shook her head, "I only laugh because the thought depresses me. When I was little and had baby dolls, sure, I used to say that I wanted to be a mommy. But then I heard somewhere that women who suffer from sexual trauma at a young age like I did might not be able to have kids… and, well, there went that dream." She leaned her head against the window. "Besides, it's not like I _could _have any, being a prostitute and all that. I'd just be bringing some innocent baby into the world to become a miserable wretch like me."

Rangiku frowned. "You could always go to the doctor and check, sweetie."

"Nah." Orihime closed her eyes. "Honestly, I'm too scared to find out. And who would the father be, huh? Show me an honest and tolerable man with a good IQ and a decent career. If I could find someone like that – and I won't, because they don't exist – then _maybe _I would consider politely asking him for a genetic donation."

They crossed into the Hueco Mundo district shortly after, which was alive with more bar-hopping adults in slutty costumes than anything else. Orihime checked her phone, which she had set on vibrate, and found a handful of messages that she hadn't felt come in. One was from Ulquiorra, complaining that he absolutely refused to go to Wal-Mart and was going to try the convenience store five blocks away. Another was from Momo, stating that she and Toshiro would be at the apartment building in half an hour. A third came from Szayel, who was on the party planning committee and was anxious to know if either she or Ulquiorra had found sodas yet. She replied to each appropriately: _Just go the hell to Wal-Mart; Awesome, we'll see you there; _and _He's being stubborn, this might take a while_.

Orihime didn't want to admit it to Rangiku, but she was beginning to feel her own anxiety about the night to come. She had been putting on an impressive performance for the past two weeks, and now she had to bring it to a dramatic close. For some reason, she kind of wondered what Ulquiorra would say. He'd definitely be mad at her. She had to think of a way to make it up to him; perhaps that three-course dinner she'd been procrastinating on making.

The party hadn't officially started yet, though enough fliers had been posted around the neighborhood in the last few weeks to attract plenty. When Orihime and Rangiku entered the building, there was already a pack of children with frazzled-looking parents hovering over them. A group of girls in tutus cooed in admiration at the two beautiful princesses as they made their way into the lobby. "Who's next? Come on now, don't be shy! He doesn't bite, I promise!" Orihime and Rangiku turned their heads at the sound of the loud voice. At the head of the group of kids stood Yammy, the maintenance man, sporting a fake mustache and a spandex strongman suit. He was crouched down low to allow several children to climb onto his massive back for a ride around the lobby, and next to him, a tall, cloaked figure with an elaborately decorated, two-faced mask was helping a little girl onto his shoulders. "Once around the park, my good sir!" the cloaked man said once the girl was situated.

Orihime recognized the voice; it was Gin, no doubt sent to keep the kids busy while everyone else prepared the lounge where the party was to take place. She looked back at Rangiku, who was smiling in amusement, watching Yammy waddle around the perimeter with four squirming, squealing children clinging to him for dear life. Good, she hadn't noticed him… but when Orihime turned again, she saw that Gin had definitely noticed her. The masked man stood frozen, his head following them as they passed. She scowled, but placed a finger over her lips and winked. Gin had promised answers tonight, so she wouldn't go revealing his identity unless he decided to go back on his word. When Rangiku looked at him, he quickly went back to the children. "Who's next?" he asked, and several boys' and girls' hands shot up into the air.

Orihime knocked once before opening the lounge door and ushering Rangiku inside. The large space, which was usually reserved for people who wanted to take advantage of the lobby's wireless internet access, or who needed to get away from home in order to read the newspaper in peace, was covered in decorations. Cobwebs with massive purple spiders hung from the ceiling, tombstones lined the walls, a skeleton stood at attention by the punchbowl, and a dismembered hand grabbed at whoever passed with a menacing laugh. How it could laugh when it lacked a mouth was beyond Orihime.

"Look who finally decided to show!" Grimmjow snapped from where he stood near the table of food, candy and refreshments, trying to sneak chips into his mouth. With his large feathered hat, cape, puffy sleeves, tight pants and high boots, he looked like he'd walked off of the set of a high school play. "Did you fall into the toilet or – ow!" he cried as Nel, who was next to him, flicked his ear. "What was that for?"

Nel was dressed in black and white attire with a similar appearance to Orihime's, only her dress's skirt was much shorter and she wore pants underneath. She ran over and threw her arms around Rangiku. "Ms. Matsumoto! It has been a while, _oui_?"

"Sure has, Nel!" She returned the hug fondly. Nel winked at Orihime over Rangiku's shoulder. She'd been let in on the whole deal in order to keep from spilling the beans about Gin on accident, seeing as she had been drunk when the initial instructions were given out. And since Grimmjow was Ulquiorra's best friend, he had been threatened into silence that night by the pianist himself. Not that he particularly cared for whatever drama his neighbors were playing out. That's what he had TV for. "Hey Frenchie, is it alright if I kidnap your girlfriend for an after party?" Rangiku asked him.

Orihime turned to him with a smile. "And have you seen Doctor Aizen anywhere?"

Grimmjow frowned. The other day he had received a phone call from Ulquiorra asking him to come over immediately; it was an emergency. Usually that meant one of two things: either he was about to be treated to a delicious dinner because Ulquiorra was in a bad mood and needed to talk it out, or Ulquiorra had managed to injure himself trying to move the furniture, which happened semi-frequently. Luckily, it had been the former. Halfway through a plate of chicken parmesan, Ulquiorra had informed him that Orihime was dating Doctor Aizen.

"_And how does that make you feel_?" Grimmjow had asked him, twirling the spaghetti around his fork.

"_It doesn't,_" Ulquiorra had replied almost instantly. Grimmjow had rolled his eyes, having half a mind to lecture him about lying, but he probably would have walked away with a fork sticking out of his forehead if he had done that. So he'd opted for making Ulquiorra feel worse.

"_Well, good for her. Doctor Aizen's a good, emotionally stable, honest man with a real career. She could benefit from being with a guy like that._"

"_What are you trying to say?_" Ulquiorra had demanded over his food.

"_I'm saying that you're going to have to man up and stake a claim on her before someone else does – oops, too late._"

Ulquiorra's eyes had narrowed viciously, and Grimmjow had felt his muscles tensing and preparing to spring from the chair and make a hasty escape. But after a long moment of silence, the black-haired man had gone back to his food and arrogantly declared that he couldn't – nor did he want to – stake a claim on her, as that would be bestiality, considering the fact that she was a cold-blooded reptile. Then he'd given up on his dinner and took Grimmjow's still-full plate away to dump the food down the sink, snapping that he hadn't done anything to deserve being fed.

Now he could see why his friend was so upset. The girl was searching the room as if her life depended on finding Doctor Aizen. He kind of wanted to ask her what she was thinking, if only for Ulquiorra's sake, but then he thought of that delicious, wasted food and decided that Ulquiorra could go to hell.

Ten minutes later, the party planning committee became anxious and couldn't wait for the Cokes – after all, they had plenty of other sodas – so they opened the doors for the public. By that time some of the apartment residents had gathered as well, making the assembled crowd rather large. Orihime fluttered around the room, assisting parents and children for a good half-hour. She had just thought to help the people filling a tub with water for the purpose of playing Bobbing for Apples when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aizen enter the room. He had apparently also gone for the doctor costume, probably to match her better. Her heart flew up into her throat as she instinctively looked around for Rangiku, but she couldn't see her. Texting would be the next best thing. Grabbing her phone, she sent a quick warning to the older woman before making her way over to Aizen. He had halfway crossed the room by then, having spotted her from the door.

"Good evening, Doctor," she said in a sultry purr.

"Well, don't you look stunning, Ms. Inoue?" Aizen took her hand and turned her around. "The dress suits you," he added. His hair was slicked back, contacts in. Did he always have to look like such a douchebag when he was with her?

Orihime giggled. "Oh, stop." She swatted his shoulder playfully, making the hit a little harder than it needed to be. Finally she could put an end to her charade with this disgusting excuse for a man, though she had to wait until Momo arrived, and the girl was tardy. "What say you and I blow this lame party after some mingling?" She took his arm and leaned up to whisper in his ear. "We can go back to your place."

Aizen smirked. "Not a bad idea."

_La Cucaracha _began blaring noisily from Orihime's chest, causing them both to look down at her bosom. _Damn it, Ulquiorra, what now? _She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I have to take this. Can you wait for just a minute?" Not sticking around long enough for a reply, she headed for the door, only to feel someone grab her arm firmly before she was dragged off to the side of the lounge. "What - !" she cried, turning around and finding herself staring up into an elaborately decorated two-faced mask. "Gin?"

The silver-haired attendant pulled up the mask. His eyes were open, set into a stern glare. "What do you think you're doing?" he hissed, casting a paranoid glance over his shoulder.

Orihime held up her phone. "Trying to talk to Ulquiorra before he suffers an aneurism and dies on me," she answered, sticking her hands on her hips. "What do you think _you're _doing?"

Gin sighed. "Okay, I know you're mad…"

"_Just _mad?"

"But Rangiku doesn't need to be here!" he finished, looking at her earnestly. "And furthermore," Orihime's phone, which had gone silent after being ignored, began to ring again. Gin's jaw clenched in frustration. "Never mind. I'll tell you later. Just… go talk to him."

Orihime scowled. "You're going to start giving me some answers when I come back, buddy," she said as Gin slipped his mask on and effortlessly disappeared into the crowd. Creepy guy. She resumed her walk towards the door, but just before she reached it, Momo and Toshiro entered the lounge. They made an adorable pair, that was for sure; the girl had gone for a Greek goddess look, dressed in a flowing gown with green laurels adorning her head; whereas the white-haired boy wore all black, a cape, and a set of fake vampire teeth. It was kind of sad that he was still shorter than her.

"Orihime!" Momo cried, jogging over to her immediately. "Wow, what a pretty dress!"

"Thanks," Orihime replied as her phone went silent once more. Damn it. "You're looking pretty cute yourself!" She turned to Toshiro, who stood nearby. "You too, Mr. Vampire." His eyes narrowed. "Not cute, I mean! You look very… sharp and manly." _La Cucaracha _struck up a third time. "I, uh, need to take this. Why don't you go find Rangiku? She's around here somewhere." With that, she ran out of the lounge and went to the far side of the lobby where there was much less noise. Flipping her phone open, she pressed it to her ear. "_What_?"

"_I finally found sodas,_" Ulquiorra said in what she could only assume was a voice of triumph. Then he seemed to take notice of the annoyance in her tone. "_Did I interrupt something?_" She opened her mouth to reply, but he spoke first. "_Oh, wait, sorry. I forgot that you were probably in a dark corner getting familiar with Doctor Aizen's body. Well, you carry on. I'll be back in twenty minutes, maybe half an hour. The traffic is pretty bad in some places._"

Orihime sighed. "I wasn't getting cozy with Doctor Aizen," she said, held for a pause, then added, "but I was about to." A beeping sound came from her phone; she had just received a text. Pulling it away from her ear, she stared down at the screen as Rangiku's name appeared over the message. _He saw me. I'm in the bathroom. Come ASAP. _Panic washed over Orihime. "I-I'll tell Luppi to wait for you and the sodas in the lobby!" she said to Ulquiorra before ending the call and bolting back towards the party.

Ulquiorra hung up and dropped the smart phone into his lap, glaring at the bumper-to-bumper traffic at a standstill in front of him. He hated Wal-Mart. Why did it have to be all the way across the city? "Damn it," he muttered, crossing his arms and inching the car forward impatiently. Glancing at his phone again, he picked it up and began tapping a message to Grimmjow onto the screen.

Back at Las Noches, Grimmjow felt a vibration in his pocket and reached into it. Upon unlocking his phone, he stared down at the grammatically correct text. _Follow Ms. Inoue – two hundred bucks._ A wicked grin spread across his face as he replied.

_Can do_.

On the other side of the room, Orihime was skirting her way around running, smelly children and small packs of her neighbors. The bathrooms were just ahead. She looked around, but she couldn't find Aizen anywhere, which only caused her fears to go out of control as her mind dug up all sorts of horrible scenarios. Had he trapped Rangiku in the bathroom? Was he in the process of trying to rape her again? She took the moment to become religious as she prayed to whatever deity was listening that nothing was happening to her.

Thankfully, when she pushed the bathroom door open, there were no sounds of an ongoing struggle. Orihime went past the sinks and found Rangiku huddled in the last stall, her face matching the pallor of her dress, tears running down her cheeks. "What happened, Boss?" she asked as Rangiku staggered forward and grabbed her arms. "How do you know that he saw you?"

"H-He," Rangiku swallowed past the lump in her throat, though her breaths were coming in high-pitched gasps. "He came up behind me." Her blue eyes were wide and completely glossed over. "He came up, and he said, _Rangiku, it's wonderful to see you again after so many years_," her voice lowered to a whisper, "_but all that white… I don't think it really suits you_." And then her expression crumpled, her entire body shaking. "Then he left, a-and I ran here."

Orihime closed her eyes, suppressing the urge to break the bathroom mirror. "Okay," she said quietly, her voice level and calm, "don't worry. Just stay in here, alright? I'll go find him and set things straight." Rangiku nodded once, but she looked uncertain. Orihime gave her a reassuring smile. "Stay here," she repeated. "Call me if you're in trouble."

Stepping out of the bathroom, Orihime felt like she was about to open the gates of hell and drag Aizen there personally. But a quick survey of the area revealed that he was nowhere to be seen. She glanced down at her phone, which had been tightly clenched in her hand since she'd gotten Rangiku's message. Should she try to call him? No… she looked around again. Where was Gin? He needed to haul his ass into the bathroom, gender be damned, and see just what those lonely years had done to his former friend. But he wasn't in the lounge, either. Where had everybody gone? She saw Grimmjow glaring at her from across the room, but he was always glaring at her, so that was nothing new. Nel and Szayel were competing in Bobbing for Apples, which both of them were oddly good at. Momo had a chocolate bat in her hand that she appeared to be trying to feed to Toshiro, and while he was obviously blushing, he refused to open his mouth.

Orihime scowled, her fingers twitching, heart racing. She had to do something _now_. Where was a punching bag when she needed one? Oh, Ulquiorra would be back soon. She could get him back for the ad in the paper, but she had a feeling that in her current mood, she would be holding his head under the water in that Bobbing for Apples tank, and he didn't deserve to die. Yet. After another ten minutes of searching the large room for either Aizen or Gin – whoever came first; at this point she didn't care – she sighed and thought to go back and check on Rangiku, then noticed Starrk and Lilynette walking in.

Starrk was shirtless save for a strange animal pelt that had been draped over his shoulders; in fact, his head was _in_ the mouth of the beast. Other than that, he wore a pair of tattered pants and carried a spear, but was also barefoot, and had painted a claw mark on his naked chest. Orihime guessed that he was a warrior of sorts. Next to him, Lilynette had somehow blown out and curled her hair to imitate that of Sandy from _Grease_, and was clad in the same tight leather pants and halter top, complete with a black jacket. Seeing them, Orihime realized that she hadn't caught a glimpse of Ms. Harribel anywhere. She'd been meaning to ask the mute woman about the plastic surgery thing. Maybe Starrk would know.

"Hey," she greeted the sibling duo as they came closer to where she was.

"Whoa, Orihime, you look great!" Lilynette cried, then spun in a circle and modeled for her. "What do you think? Pretty sweet, huh? Tia made it for me! She even helped me with my hair!"

Orihime smiled. "It's very nice," she said, pushing her off in the direction of the candy. "Why don't you go fill up before more grubby kids come along?"

Lilynette grinned maniacally. "Oh, I was planning on it." She took off wobbling on her high heels, and Orihime couldn't help but think that this might be the first time she'd seen the girl wearing something modest. When she turned to talk to Starrk, she nearly fell over at the kicked puppy expression on his face.

"Umm," she recoiled a bit. "You okay?"

Starrk shook his head, the animal pelt – which she had deciphered to be a wolf – swinging back and forth with the motion. "Ms. Inoue, you have to help me," he said, taking both of her hands in his. "I think I might have done something to hurt Tia."

Orihime's eye twitched. Victim found. "Oh yeah? What happened?" she asked sweetly, already thinking of ways to strangle him with the animal pelt. Was everybody out to get her friends tonight? Seriously, they couldn't have picked a better fucking day.

"Well, you see," he began, and now he pulled his hands away, scratching the wolf's bottom jaw sheepishly, "I went with Lilynette to pick up her costume from Tia's apartment. The moment she got it, Lily ran back upstairs to put it on, but Tia asked me if I could stay and help her with her own costume. She'd been handing out candy to trick-or-treaters, so her living room was all dark and candlelit for the creepy mood, even though she hadn't put her costume on yet." His face flushed considerably. "And, well, err… her costume is, uh… that is to say," He laughed nervously. "S-She's coming to the party as mummy." A pause, in which he looked at Orihime pleadingly, begging her to understand. She said nothing. "So there was lots of bandaging involved." Still nothing. "And she was half naked, and I'm," he gestured to himself, "already half naked."

"Did you have sex with her?" Orihime asked, crossing her arms.

"No!" Starrk cried, holding the spear out in front of him for defense. "No, nothing that drastic! But, you know, with the candles, and the darkness, and all of that skin… we were pretty close, and then she traced the paw-print on my chest…" He shivered. "And I ended up pulling her closer… damn, did I ever want to kiss her…"

"Did you?" Orihime's eyebrow raised.

Starrk shook his head, attempting to bury his face in his hands but not getting very far with the wolf's jaws in the way. "I tried, but when I moved to take the bandages off of her face, she tore away from me like I'd burned her, and started apologizing so fast that I could barely read her hands. Then she told me to leave."

Oh dear. Maybe she wouldn't have to kill him after all. "Starrk," Orihime patted his arm sympathetically, "I'm sorry. You should talk to her about this, though. Make it clear to her how you feel."

"I thought that was pretty clear," he muttered.

"You have to reassure her! Tell her that you don't care that she's got some crazy scar on her face, that you would think she were beautiful no matter what she looked like!"

"But I have told her that!" Starrk cried, shutting the wolf's gaping mouth on his head. "I have," his voice came out muffled, "but she doesn't believe me. She can't get past the trauma. I don't know what to _do_." He let the costume go and gave her another pleading look. "Please, Ms. Inoue, would you talk to her for me? She likes you. I'm sure she'll listen."

"I'll see what I can do," Orihime promised, though she wasn't sure how she would do that. Perhaps tomorrow she would pay Tia a visit. For now, she had to find…

"_Boo_," a voice whispered low in her ear.

Orihime whirled around to face Doctor Aizen, the façade coming back on instantly. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you!" she said as breathily as she could.

"Ah, sorry. I wanted to go upstairs to make sure everything was prepared for us," he replied with a handsome smile that she matched with a radiant one of her own. "Why don't we head over there now?" he suggested. Orihime spared a quick glance over her shoulder. _There_. Momo was staring right at them, a confused look on her face as she nodded distractedly at something Toshiro was saying.

"Sure," Orihime mentally apologized to the girl before placing a kiss on Aizen's cheek and looping her arm through his. "Lead the way." She smirked at him coyly. The asshole was finally about to get the chewing out that he deserved, and maybe a kick in the balls. She walked beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, passing Grimmjow and Nel, who both watched her curiously. Casting a quick look towards the bathroom across the lounge, she saw Rangiku poking her head out, staring at her. She mouthed at her to go explain to Momo what was going on. Rangiku nodded and, drawing the veil tighter at the base of her neck, she slipped out of the bathroom.

Grimmjow, remembering that he had two hundred dollars on the line, grinned down at Nel, whispering to her in French, "_So, I'm not the only one who disapproves of their relationship, right?_"

Nel's eyes narrowed as a mischievous smirk spread across her face. "_You read my mind, love,_" she purred, leaning up to give him a quick kiss. Then the two casually made their way towards the door, pretending to have no interest in the pair that had exited a few seconds behind them. Grimmjow paused for a moment, reaching for his phone. He figured he might as well text Ulquiorra and let him know that breaking up Aizen and Orihime was going to cost him extra, but the muffled yelp that reached his ears the moment he stepped into the lobby made him stop dead in his tracks. He looked up just in time to see Orihime being dragged into the staircase.

"Nelliel," he said, and the green-haired girl immediately knew that something was wrong, "stay behind me."

"What is it?" Nel whispered, not having seen Orihime. But Grimmjow was already running across the lobby towards the closed door behind which the stairs lay, so she took off after him. They very quietly entered the staircase, and as soon as they did, they heard the muffled whimpers.

"Now, now." Two flights above them, Aizen had one arm around Orihime's neck, her mouth buried into the crook of his elbow, and the other around her waist as he carefully made his way up. "It'll do no good to struggle. You'll only get us both killed if we fall. It's going to be a long climb and I'd rather not have to hit your pretty head against the cement to get you to hold still," he said, and the eerie calm of his tone sent a chill down Orihime's spine.

Oh God, this wasn't good. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Perhaps when they hit one of the landings she could try to get free; right now, ascending the stairs, squirming too much was a stupid idea. But first she needed to recover from her shock. She'd expected a bad reaction, but nothing quite so drastic, and she hadn't even gotten the chance to turn the tables on him! The moment they had stepped out into the empty lobby, he'd merely asked her if she had honestly thought she would get away with tricking him, and the next thing she knew she was being dragged up the stairs.

This was no biggie, she thought. She'd be able to take care of it on her own.

"Hey!"

Shit. Half a floor beneath them, Grimmjow and Nel appeared on the landing. Orihime found it kind of funny; he was still in costume, so it really was like she was a damsel in relative distress. Flipping this guy would be no problem. She just had to wait for the right opportunity. "Let her go!" Grimmjow snapped, reaching for his plastic sword and pointing it at Aizen as if the toy would threaten him.

Aizen chuckled. "Ah, the cavalry has arrived." He sounded awfully amused for someone who was at a disadvantage. His head lowered to her ear. "Ms. Inoue, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that I was forced to lie to you earlier," he said.

Down below, Grimmjow and Nel suddenly froze, their eyes growing as wide as planets. Nel let out a choked little squeak. Orihime had just started wondering why, and then she felt it: cold, metallic, cylindrical, pressing into her temple. And in that moment she felt her heart plummet to the ground below as she realized that she would _not_ be able to take care of this on her own. "You see," Aizen whispered in a tragic tone of voice, "when I went back to my apartment, it was to retrieve this. You understand the situation now, don't you?" Orihime broke out into a cold sweat. "I don't like being lied to, Ms. Inoue. I was so honest with you, and honest people like me… it's not very fair for us to be deceived." Then he looked back at Grimmjow and Nel. "Are you still going to come for her, then?"

Neither of them moved. Tears were gathering in Nel's eyes. She stared up at Orihime, chewing her bottom lip and whimpering before stepping back. Grimmjow stood his ground. Behind his back, his hand worked as fast as it could to redial Ulquiorra's number on his phone. Of all the days that idiot had to be stuck in traffic!

Satisfied that he would not be pursued, Aizen began climbing again, keeping the barrel of the small pistol pressed against Orihime's temple. "Don't worry," he said to her quietly, "killing you now would be a waste, especially after all those weeks of teasing." This sick bastard was still planning on having his way with her? She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to fight, no matter what the consequences. But her limbs had locked up and refused to budge. Aizen was half-dragging her up the stairs, though he didn't complain about the dead weight. "To think that you would go so far," he was muttering to himself, "bringing Momo into this. And for what? To spare her?" His lip curled in disgust.

Orihime wanted to kick, to scream, to do _something_. Why couldn't she move? It was getting harder to breathe. She alternated between watching the stairs – Grimmjow and Nel were keeping their distance, but they hadn't abandoned their rescue attempt – and forcing her eyes closed. Oh, this was bad. She was too terrified to do a damn thing. And even worse was what lay ahead if she _didn't _fight.

Grimmjow had the cell phone pressed against his ear. He whispered to Nel in French to call 911, which she did promptly, her hands shaking as she dialed the numbers.

"_What is it?_" Ulquiorra answered after two rings.

"Just listen," Grimmjow whispered. "I'm going to put the phone on speaker, but don't you say anything. Not a damn word." Then he pressed the speakerphone option and lowered the device, hiding it behind his back again. He took the stairs two at a time, leaving Nel behind, until he was in view of the psychologist and his hostage. "Let Orihime go, Aizen! Not sure what's going on, but I'm pretty sure the gun isn't necessary."

Aizen stared down at him haughtily. "Ms. Inoue, please tell Mr. Jaegerjaques that you would rather not have a bullet in your brain, so he should go back downstairs and mind his own business." He lowered his arm enough to free Orihime's mouth.

Grimmjow clutched the phone tightly. "_Say something_," he mouthed to her, but she couldn't get her lips to move more than a centimeter, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. Her face had gone completely pale. She looked like she was about to faint. And on the other end of the phone, Grimmjow was sure that Ulquiorra was beginning to piece the situation together. He willed her to speak, but she could do nothing but gape at him.

"Well?" Aizen demanded, tapping her temple with the pistol. The whimper that escaped her throat at the contact was loud enough to carry down to Nel, who frantically whispered instructions and directions into her own cell phone.

Aizen chuckled and resumed his climb. "Very well, then. If you're not going to try…" He jerked Orihime's body up the stairs. Grimmjow growled in frustration, staying close. "You don't have to follow us, Mr. Jaegerjaques. It's not like you'll get a chance to save her. Ms. Inoue isn't stupid enough to risk her precious life for something as trivial as virginity."

Orihime's bottom lip trembled. Her mind was screaming at Aizen to shut up, to die, to burn in hell, but her mouth would not work. She looked at Grimmjow helplessly. A shuddering sob managed to slip past her frozen vocal chords, but that was all. They had just reached the fourth floor, and then…

"Oh." Aizen stopped suddenly. Orihime looked up over his shoulder, her eyes widening in horror.

Gin had been coming down the stairs from one of the upper floors, hands tucked within the sleeves of his costume, the two-faced mask nowhere to be found. He stopped walking, staring down at them curiously, not seeming to register what was happening. Before Orihime knew it, the gun lifted away from her. Time seemed to slow down as Aizen's arm stretched out, aiming the weapon at the unsuspecting attendant. Her voice finally came free. "_Run!_" she shrieked, but it was drowned out by the crack that burst from the gun, filling the staircase and making her ears ring, echoing throughout the entire building, from rock bottom to the top of the world.

…

Ulquiorra had been face-down on the steering wheel, repeatedly hitting it with his forehead. The traffic simply would not move. Sighing, he had put on his turn signal and swerved into a lane that was actually making progress. From all the cars, one would think that the president or the gosh-darned pope was in town. Shouldn't these people be home doing something with their kids?

His phone had gone off just as he'd hit another standstill, the loud chorus of a heavy metal song causing him to jump. He really needed to find a quieter ringtone for Grimmjow. Pressing the green button, he had lifted it to his ear, half-expecting to be told – in excruciating detail – what Orihime and Aizen were up to.

Well, he hadn't been wrong.

After Grimmjow had commanded him to be quiet, Ulquiorra had frowned, but obeyed. And then Grimmjow had actually addressed Aizen. What the hell, was there some sort of freaky threesome going on? But he was fairly sure that people didn't use guns in threesomes.

Wait… gun?

Ulquiorra wasn't sure what he had felt once the realization had hit him that something had gone horribly wrong. He didn't feel much of anything, actually. He was rather calm. Putting his phone on speaker and setting it onto the console between the front seats, his eyes focused on the road ahead. Rational steps. First, he needed to find a way out of the traffic. He eased the car forward, all too aware of the agonizingly slow pace, but he could see the Las Noches apartment complex in the distance. Getting out and running would have been faster, but he'd rather not get a ticket for obstructing traffic.

He had listened to the conversation, struggling to make out Aizen's words. The man sounded rather far away. Where were they? The cars picked up speed a bit, only to stop a short distance later. Ulquiorra had tried very hard not to hit something. Grimmjow had told him to be quiet, to just listen, and at the moment, that was all he _could_ do. He was two streets away from the building. There was no need to be angry.

And then he heard Ms. Inoue scream, followed by the unmistakable crack of a gunshot. Grimmjow must have dropped his phone, because he heard a clatter, and then he heard nothing. After five seconds of silence, he glanced down at the phone's screen. Sure enough, the call had ended.

Ulquiorra sat back in his seat, staring up at the roof of the car. The traffic wasn't moving. The mother-fucking world wasn't moving. He let out an unsteady breath, and his hands came up, pushing his hair back, tangling into the black strands. It was suddenly way too hot in there. His heart was beating too fast, too hard. It hurt. Oh God, it hurt. He wasn't sure where the pain was coming from, but it was _everywhere_. He needed to call back. His brain was too scrambled to remember Grimmjow's number.

Rational… be rational. Oh no, that was going to fucking cut it anymore. These people needed to get the hell out of his way before he drove right over them. Oh, but his poor old car wouldn't be able to take that sort of impact. He'd probably kill himself pulling a stunt like that, and he couldn't die. Not yet. No, he wasn't allowed to die until he'd systematically ripped Aizen apart.

He would start with the fingernails, he thought as traffic began to move again. He'd pull all of the fingernails off. Then the hairs, one strand at a time. Then fingers, section by section. Oh, he'd need a rusted spoon or something to make it as slow and painful as possible. Fingers, then toes, and then the hands and feet… section by section, injecting the old man with adrenaline to keep him alive and awake throughout the whole, bloody process.

Damn it, these thoughts should have been comforting him. He lowered his head, taking in a deep breath, his jaw clenching so tightly that it made his head hurt. Killing Aizen was not going to be enjoyable, and that worried him. Nothing he could say or do or think was going to comfort him now. Would he spend the rest of his life feeling this way, he wondered?

Because if that was the case, he was never, ever going to drink Coke again.

…

Orihime let out a hysterical sob. "Gin!" she cried, finally mustering up the strength to fight Aizen's hold as they passed Gin's unmoving body, blood pooling beneath him, soaking into his cloak. "Gin! Oh God, _Gin!_" she shrieked, tears cascading down her cheeks. "Grimmjow, Nel, call for help, please!"

"So noisy," Aizen complained, holding her even tighter against himself. "Don't lose your voice, now. It'll be no fun if you can't scream later."

Grimmjow swore colorfully. He'd dropped his phone, which had caused the battery to separate from it, but that was the least of his worries now. "Nel, tell them we need an ambulance!" he yelled, running to assist Gin. The silver-haired man groaned as Grimmjow turned him over onto his back, ripping off the cape of his costume to stop the bleeding. Nel was sobbing into the phone, her words a jumble of French and English.

Orihime cried out in despair. Gin had been shot. She was next. Aizen was going to rape her and kill her. What a despicable end to a life that had finally been improving. She slumped forward, but the older man continued to push her up the stairs. They were almost to the top now.

Oh, she would have much preferred choking on her own vomit in a disgusting alley than _this_. It would have been embarrassing, but nowhere near as traumatizing. And she would have gone alone. If she'd just died in that alley, she wouldn't have had to explain to Sora why she'd brought Gin along to the afterlife with her. He was an asshole for breaking Rangiku's heart, but he hadn't deserved that. She wept bitterly, unable to see through her tears, her sides heaving until it felt like she was going to puke. And then she suddenly came to a new realization, one that hurt far worse than she ever would have imagined:

She was never going to see Ulquiorra again.

This brought on a fresh round of tears, and she stumbled over one of the steps, but Aizen yanked her upright and forced her to keep going. Poor Ulquiorra! He was going to return from a miserable evening of hunting down soda and being stuck in traffic, and what was he going to find? Her stiff, naked body draining blood onto Aizen's carpet through a hole in her head? Now she almost did throw up, feeling the familiar sensation of her throat constricting as her stomach flopped violently. She didn't want him to see her like that. Maybe Grimmjow would prevent him from going inside. Oh, she really hoped so.

"Just a little farther," Aizen informed her serenely. Orihime closed her eyes, the scarlet letters that had been burned behind her lids momentarily disappearing, replaced by a familiar sight that made her heart throb painfully. She saw Ulquiorra, seated at the piano in that Lakewood church, his hands shaking over the keys. Only this time, it wasn't his father in the casket.

What sort of piece would he compose for _her _funeral? Her heart clenched. She could only hope that, wherever she went when she died, she would be allowed to hear it.

…

"Ulquiorra! It's about time!" Luppi cried, holding his hands out as the taller man handed him the plastic Wal-Mart bag full of sodas and walked off without another word. Ulquiorra stared straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the elevators. He paid no mind to Luppi as he pressed the button on the wall and one of the elevator doors swung open with a pleasant ding.

Judging by the echo of the gunshot, he had determined that they were on the stairs. Aizen was probably going to try to escape to his apartment. Ulquiorra lightly tapped on the P button, then stood in the middle of the cart as it ascended, his hands in his pockets. Adrenaline surged through his body, energy demanding to be set free. And that awful pain in his chest was still there. How would he relieve that? He was getting the feeling that it would take much more than some Tylenol.

As soon as the elevator door opened onto the small hallway that led to the penthouse suite, a sound caught Ulquiorra's attention. Loud sobbing, voices from the stairway. But it was the crying that he focused on, because he knew that voice, and in that moment it had never sounded sweeter to his ears. He stood and listened to it, letting the relief wash over him. _She's alive_. Possibly hurt, but still alive.

He turned in the direction of the stairs and peered into the small window on the heavy door. There. His green eyes zeroed in on the back of the man who held a gun in one hand and the source of his joy, his tether to sanity, his greatest treasure in the other. Ulquiorra took a step or two away from the door, removing his hands from his pockets, rolling his shoulders slowly. Ah, this was going to be _so satisfying_. All the tension that had been building in the last three weeks, all the anger… He waited for Aizen to reach behind him for the silver handle with the hand holding the gun, but before the man could grasp it, Ulquiorra took a firm hold of it and pulled the door open himself.

Aizen turned around just in time to see the silent rage of the green eyed monster that he had created. And then a fist slammed into his face with the force of a wrecking ball. His nose broke with a sickening crunch, blood spurting into the air between them. Stunned, his grip on both Orihime and the gun were lost. The weapon clattered to the floor as Aizen missed his footing and stumbled backwards, his arms flailing wildly, hands grabbing the first thing they could find: the fire alarm. As his body fell towards the stairs, his fingers caught the red handle and it came down, filling the entire building with the shriek of a bell that caused the children at the party downstairs to cry out in panic.

Aizen's back hit the stairs, his momentum sending him tumbling into the landing where he finally came to a stop, groaning in pain. Ulquiorra blinked and stared down at his clenched fist. Wow. No wonder he'd put a dent in the wall. "Oof!" The wind was knocked out of his lungs as a hysterical Orihime lunged at him, flinging her arms around his neck, sobbing into his chest.

It was like a cold drink of water on a hot summer day. The painful throb in Ulquiorra's heart was soothed instantly, his own arms finding their way around the girl's small waist, pulling her as close to him as he possibly could. "You're alright," he whispered, noting that she wasn't bruised or bleeding in any way. There was a lecture forming somewhere in the back of his mind, but it would be saved for another day. This felt way too good. "Oh, thank God, Orihime, you're alright…" He breathed into her rose-scented hair, torn between wanting to hold her forever and run down the stairs to continue his beating on Aizen.

Luckily, he had Grimmjow there, and the blue-haired Frenchman was _pissed_. He rapidly ascended the stairs, grabbed a fistful of the psychologist's hair and drove his face into the concrete, grinding his already broken nose to pieces and yelling every obscenity he knew. "That's enough," a strained voice called out to him.

Orihime gasped, turning in Ulquiorra's arms and crying out in surprise when she saw Gin not only alive, but standing. He looked at her and held up the mask of his Halloween costume, which was now sporting a hole in one side; it had been hanging down in front of his chest, taking the initial impact of the bullet from Aizen's gun. But he still held the musketeer cape to the bleeding wound, so he wasn't out of the woods yet. "Hold him down, Grimmjow," Gin instructed, crouching down with a degree of effort. And then, through whatever pain he was in, his fox-like smile returned. "So, you can't run away this time," he said to the half-conscious psychologist as he reached into his back pocket and withdrew a pair of handcuffs. "Sousuke Aizen, you're under arrest."

"_What_?" Aizen spat through what looked like broken teeth.

"For attempted murder, attempted rape… oh, and the sexual assault of a minor," Gin added as he pulled Aizen's arms behind his back and slipped the cuffs onto his wrists. "Surprised?" He leaned a bit closer, patting the man on the shoulder. "Well, my friend, I'm sorry for the deception, but I'd always sworn that you were going to pay for what you did to Rangiku Matsumoto." He grinned up at Orihime. "And I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, Ms. Inoue, but now do you see why it was important that nobody knew?" Aizen started struggling again. Gin sat on his back as if he were dropping into an easy chair. "I've been after this guy for years. Owed it to Ran, since I couldn't get to that picnic in time to stop it from happening. I saw him coming out of the woods, and when she told me about the rape later, I put two and two together." He winced and pressed the fabric tighter to his wound. "Think she'll forgive me?"

Orihime laughed and nodded. "Oh, yes, definitely!" She buried her face into Ulquiorra's chest, breathing in his scent and clutching at his back. Couldn't she get any closer? She wanted to melt right into him, she was just so happy that he'd come for her. At first she had thought that her mind had conjured him up to ease her stress, that Aizen was having his way with her and she was living out some fantasy before she died. But he was there. He was solid. And he'd called her by her _name_; not woman, not dragon lady, not Ms. Inoue. And now she was blubbering all over him again.

The police, the fire department and the paramedics soon arrived. Nel, who had gone downstairs to receive them, directed the multitude to the staircase and explained what she had witnessed. There was a bit of a mix up when they reached the top floor and saw the gun by Ulquiorra's feet, then thought that he'd been the one to shoot Gin, but the silver-haired man quickly showed the officers his badge and filled them in on the rest of the story. Once they'd taken Aizen out from under him, Gin gave in to his blood loss and collapsed. The paramedics swarmed around him instantly. He was loaded onto a gurney and taken down to the ground floor via elevator.

And that was where Rangiku finally saw him. "Gin?" she whispered, breaking away from the crowd that had evacuated Las Noches when the fire alarm had been tripped. "Gin!" she cried out, ignoring the police officers that told her to stay back as she rushed to his side. Completely bewildered, she didn't know what to do, what to say, where to even _begin_. But her mind decided for her. "It wasn't a dream," she whispered, reaching out to touch him and whimpering when her fingers grasped a solid body.

Gin turned his head towards her, his eyes barely open. "Ran," he said, lifting his hand to wipe the tears that were dripping down her cheeks. "You look just like an angel, Ran." He managed another smile. "I put that guy in jail for you, so you don't have to cry anymore."

Rangiku buried her face in her hands. "Idiot," she sniffled, "of course I do."

…

It was perhaps the most exciting night that the Las Noches apartment complex had ever witnessed. People would be talking about it for weeks to come, and in the morning, it would be plastered all over the local – and maybe even national – news. Orihime wanted to go to the hospital to learn of Gin's fate, but shortly after the paramedics had taken him away, the stockpiled stress had caused her to have a full blown panic attack, complete with hyperventilating and more unreasonable tears. Ulquiorra had immediately deemed her unfit to go anywhere. He'd told Grimmjow and Nel that he would head over to the hospital as soon as he could, then he had taken Orihime straight home.

She was trembling so badly that he'd had to help her get into her pajamas. He supervised her as she downed a full glass of cold water, and then, instead of wasting time with the sofa bed, he had brought her into his room.

"Go to sleep," he ordered her as she slid beneath the covers. "I'll come back and get you in the morning." But the moment he turned around, Orihime seized his hand. He looked down at her. She was still trembling, tears in her eyes as she shook her head.

"Don't go," she whispered.

Ulquiorra didn't need to be told twice. He removed his shoes and sat down next to her, reaching for his phone to send Grimmjow a message. _Let me know anything about Gin. We'll be there tomorrow_. _And thanks._ Sighing lightly, he then put the phone on silent and allowed Orihime to use his lap as a pillow. "Aren't you uncomfortable?" he asked. She shook her head once, closing her eyes. Tomorrow she would find out what had happened to Gin, to Rangiku, to Momo, to Aizen, to everyone… but for now, she would rest in the company of her savior. Her body shivered a while longer, but within the next ten minutes, she was asleep.

Ulquiorra, however, was not tired. There was too much to think about, too much to reflect upon. He kept watch over Orihime the entire night, noting that sometimes she would frown, and other times her lips would move as if she were speaking, but no sound came forth. His eyes took in every detail. Here was a moment that he would always remember, too precious to ever discard: the sight of Orihime, alive and well, sleeping peacefully in his bed, next to him. It was something that he decided he wouldn't mind seeing again. Not in the near future, but definitely more than once, and under much better circumstances.

His thoughts charged forward like the night sky above as the darkness eventually gave way to daybreak. And when the sun had been present an hour or two, working diligently to evaporate the dew clinging to the grass in the park, bringing the nightmare of Halloween to a close as it welcomed the season of thanksgiving, Orihime stirred. Her eyelids fluttered as she came out of her deep slumber, finding her head resting on one of Ulquiorra's pillows. He wasn't in the room, but she could hear him in the hallway, talking to someone on the phone. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, still plenty exhausted but anxious to get to the hospital.

Ulquiorra walked in a few seconds later. Orihime had been staring at the ceiling, and now she looked at him as he approached the bed. "Good morning," she said groggily.

"Good morning," Ulquiorra replied. He was tired, still coming down from an adrenaline rush, and his back was sore… but after an entire night of thinking, he was no longer in denial. To waste any more time with her when she could be taken away at a moment's notice would be purely idiotic. Placing one hand on the pillow next to her head, he leaned down, his free hand brushing her soft red hair away from her face as his lips pressed gently to hers. He sensed her hesitate for only a moment before responding. Her head turned towards him, her lips moving with his slowly, tentatively, and lasting no more than a few seconds before he pulled away and gazed into her clouded gray eyes. There was no sound in the apartment other than their even breathing. Then Orihime asked the only question that came to mind:

"Was that a fluke, too?"

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: ** Oh my! What happens next? Will I be a heartless wench and allow Gin to die? And now that Ulquiorra has stopped beating around the bush, will he and Orihime's relationship thrive, or will nothing come of it?

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	23. Dearly Departed

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach or any other copyrighted material.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Dearly Departed**

Back and forth, back and forth. The iron hissed as Orihime lifted it from the fabric and placed it down onto the board. She slipped the black dress off of the surface and held it up to the light for inspection, sighing. Still wrinkled. Setting it down again, she picked up the iron and resumed her work, all the while listening as _Moonlight Sonata _filled the otherwise quiet apartment. The morose song was even more depressing in person, she thought, glaring at the dress in annoyance. And yet for the last four days, Ulquiorra had played it almost religiously. Orihime had half a mind to throw the iron at his face. "Would you cut it out?" she said finally.

Ulquiorra looked up at her as if he'd been snapped out of a trance. His fingers continued to move over the piano keys. "Hmm?"

"That song is getting on my nerves." She drove the iron into the dress more insistently. _Straighten, damn you! _Carelessly throwing it into the suitcase after the funeral in Washington had not been a grand idea, she admitted now. But she didn't want to burn the thing, either, so she pulled the iron away and scrutinized it again. "It's not going to bring him back."

Ulquiorra didn't respond to that. He kept right on playing, ignoring her exaggeratedly loud sigh. The past four days had been absolutely miserable without Gin. Everyone in the building could feel his absence, more so when they ventured downstairs and were greeted by the new front desk attendant, a blonde man named Kira Izuru whose kicked puppy expression could almost rival Ulquiorra's. _Almost_. But they were nice to him, and he was quite amiable himself. He understood that he had some rather large shoes to fill.

Orihime didn't even have work to escape to – being near Rangiku and her crazed behavior was downright unbearable, even though she was around a lot less these days. She didn't even have Momo to chat with; the girl had taken a week off of school and work, though Toshiro had come in the day before to reassure Orihime that Momo was going to be alright. The police had questioned her thoroughly and, upon noticing her fragile mental state, they had suggested for her parents to set her up with a counselor, lest she suffer from any permanent damage. Toshiro had also told Orihime that Momo had forgiven her for everything, and thanked her profusely for keeping her safe.

Finally, the dress was ironed to perfection. Orihime slipped it back onto its hanger and took it to the closet just as _Moonlight Sonata _came to an end. Thank goodness. "It's supposed to rain tomorrow," she said to Ulquiorra. "Can I borrow your umbrella?"

"You're going to the cemetery alone?" he asked as he placed the cover over the piano keys.

"I guess," she replied, "you're working and I don't really feel like dragging anyone else along. It'd be too sad."

"Hmm," Ulquiorra didn't exactly enjoy the thought of her being alone for this. He turned to the kitchen, his stomach reminding him that he was hungry, and she probably was too. "I'll take the day off. That way you won't have to hand over money for the bus, at least."

"You're being nice to me. Stop it," Orihime grumbled irritably. "Where's Paco? Did he finally get caught by the immigration police? Tell him to get his Mexican ass across the border again." She knew that wasn't fair to say. Ulquiorra hadn't really been himself for the last few days, but then again, neither had she. Or anyone else. The events of the Halloween party had shaken everybody in Las Noches. Grimmjow was a bit quieter, Nel spent more time in school because she hated feeling like they were missing a family member, Starrk was trying to write songs and driving Lilynette nuts, Luppi had temporarily closed his dance studio. Szayel was probably the worst off, wishing that he could have known what was happening so he could have been of more use to Gin. Orihime and Nel had spent some time in the doctor's apartment the other day, telling him that it would be alright. There was no way that anyone could have predicted what had happened that night.

…

"Come on, guys. This is ridiculous. You're overreacting." Gin Ichimaru turned as best as he could on the crutch tucked under his arm, pointing to the front desk decorated in flowers and ribbons. "You're acting like I actually died!"

Rangiku stood faithfully by his side, an amused and happy look on her face. "They were just worried about you. To be honest, you looked like shit lying in that hospital bed," she said, cringing at the memory of how pale he had been while recovering from surgery.

Orihime stood with Ulquiorra, Grimmjow, Nel, Yammy, Szayel, Nnoitra, Starrk and Lilynette, and Tia. They had all come down to welcome him back from the hospital, and perhaps they had gone a little overboard with the decorations. "But it's going to be weird, you not working at the front desk anymore," Lilynette voiced what they had all been thinking when they'd covered the place in black ribbons. "It's like you won't even _be_ here anymore."

"I live on your floor," Gin reminded her. But he smiled nonetheless, moved by the touching display. "Now that I've gotten Aizen out of the way, headquarters wants me working on other cases around the city. I just won't have the time for desk stuff." He tapped his bandaged chest lightly. "Of course, that won't be until I've recovered from this doozy of a hit. Man, I've been shot before, but this was the scariest, I think."

"Idiot! You almost died!" Grimmjow snapped at him. "Quit acting like it was no fucking big deal!"

Orihime yawned and stretched. It was getting late; had it not been for the fact that they'd been waiting for Rangiku to bring Gin back, she would have gone to bed sooner, especially since she had a long day tomorrow. She had made the decision to visit her brother's grave, having never done so in the past. It was emotionally and physically draining, the anxiety she felt when she thought about it, but she wasn't going to wait another year. It had to be done. She'd wanted to talk to him ever since she had almost been killed herself. He was probably mad at her for putting herself in danger, so an apology was in order.

Ulquiorra had been mad, too, but he'd shown it in more childish ways. For example, the night after the Halloween incident, he had prepared a huge dinner of seafood. She _hated _seafood. He'd told her that he wasn't going to spend another two hours in the kitchen making something that would appeal specifically to her, then went on a tirade about starving children around the world, which made her eat for the sake of shutting him up. She had pulled faces throughout the entire meal, refusing to admit that he'd prepared the shrimp in a way that actually made it taste good.

He had also gone right back to calling her Ms. Inoue. When she'd questioned him about it, he'd claimed that his addressing her by her first name had been one of those 'heat of the moment' things, like husbands who brutally murdered their wives upon finding them in bed with another man. "People get away with that stuff, you know," he'd informed her. In her anger, Orihime had stripped all of his shoes of their laces, which she'd then given to the puppy that Yammy kept in the basement to be thoroughly chewed.

But despite Ulquiorra's refusal to call her by anything other than Ms. Inoue, and the fact that he was acting like his usual self – perhaps slightly more obnoxious, if that were possible – Orihime couldn't deny the sense that something had changed. Ever since the morning that he'd kissed her, she had found herself having increasingly strange encounters with him. The first had occurred on the very night that he had prepared the seafood dinner. While she'd been cleaning up the dishes, minding her own business, she had suddenly felt him standing behind her. But before she could turn around to question his knowledge regarding personal space, he had leaned in to whisper in her ear, "You missed a spot."

It had been so startling that Orihime had dropped the plate she'd been scrubbing into the sink – thankfully it hadn't shattered. Then she had turned and found him rummaging through the refrigerator, muttering about 'needing something sweet'.

Awkward moment number two had come the day before yesterday. Ulquiorra had forced her to accompany him to Wal-Mart to do major grocery shopping – apparently he hated the place – and to find ribbons for decorating the front desk. As usual, they had ended up bickering, this time over how many tomatoes he was buying. "Do we really need ten?" she had asked, to which he had replied that he was thinking of making salad that week. "You'll only need like five, then," she'd told him, after which he had stared at them anxiously, then started whining because, What would happen if he ran out? Eventually Orihime had gotten fed up with him and had shoved the tomato into his chest. Of course, it had exploded all over the front of his crisp white shirt. He had stared down at the remnants of the fruit, then his green eyes had slowly lifted to lock onto hers.

"That was my favorite shirt," he'd said in a low voice.

Orihime had crossed her arms and given him a challenging look. "Yeah, so what? You have three more that are _just _like it." One of which she had stolen, she didn't need to add.

Ulquiorra's arm had shot forward with the same speed in which he had knocked Aizen off of his feet. His hand had clamped down on her wrist, yanking her forward until she had been crushed against his body, and then his arms had locked tightly around her waist. "Hey!" Orihime cried, struggling to break free. "Let go! You're going to get my clothes dirty!" she squealed.

"Retribution," Ulquiorra had replied simply, keeping her there. However, Orihime was not one to go down without a serious fight, so she'd elbowed him in the ribs. But the moment her feet touched the ground, she'd skidded on the squashed tomato and fallen back into Ulquiorra, who had then braced himself to stay upright, only to end up slipping on the slick floor as well. In the end, he'd hit the ground hard, and Orihime had come down on top of him, knocking the wind out of his lungs. They'd laid there a moment, then she'd burst into a fit of giggles, asking him if he was alright. But when she'd lifted herself up to look at him, her shirt covered in tomato juice and her hair falling over her shoulder, she'd found him staring at her in such a bizarre manner that she'd started to feel self-conscious. And they'd been so close to each other that it would have been nothing for her to lean in and…

"Ah-hem," their heads had snapped up to find one of the employees staring down at them. "I do hope that you'll be paying for that tomato."

Needless to say, the moment had come to an abrupt end.

Lately, Orihime had been wondering about the whole 'lust' thing. She was still curious about how Ulquiorra would be in bed, and she'd actually been giving some consideration to making an attempt at seducing him. A grin spread across her face. How would he react to that? He was a man, after all. There was only so much he would be able to take before he lost control and tackled her onto that perfect mattress of his. Maybe she would try to get him drunk. She'd have to enlist Grimmjow's help for that one, but she was pretty sure that he'd be willing.

A tap on her shoulder broke her free from her thoughts. She looked up at Ulquiorra, who stood behind her – at a respectable distance, of course. "Didn't you say you needed to get up early tomorrow?"

"Ah, right." She said her good-byes to Gin and the group, then followed him to the elevator. Yes, things were definitely different between them now. Somewhere along the line they had both silently acknowledged that there was a degree of sexual tension in the room. As for what they would do to relieve that tension, well, Orihime would have to come up with that on her own. She was tempted to corner him in the elevator and see where that went, but she wanted to be as pure as someone like her could get when she went to see her brother in the morning. If she really strained her brain, she could recall him throwing a fit when she'd jokingly mentioned having a crush on someone in middle school. Showing up to the cemetery 'well done' might have pissed him off.

"Ms. Inoue," Ulquiorra said suddenly, and she looked up at him as the elevator began to move, "what do you want to do for Thanksgiving?"

That was an odd question. Orihime blinked. "Don't people usually invite family over, spend two days preparing a huge feast, then sit around a table and tell everyone what they're thankful for?" she asked. He stared back at her blankly. "I mean, I've never really done any of that before. My parents were too lazy to make us a fancy dinner. Sora and I never had enough money for all that, so we would go out and get turkey sandwiches at a bistro close to where we lived. And when he died, I just sat around and got drunk every year. Oh! Wait, I did watch the parade on TV. That's probably the only Thanksgiving festivity I've religiously participated in."

Ulquiorra continued to stare at her, once again succeeding in making her feel self-conscious. "You mean to tell me that you've never had a real Thanksgiving dinner?" He tilted his head, as if his brain weren't processing the information correctly. "No turkey with gravy and stuffing? No mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie, sparkling apple cider?"

"Nope," Orihime shrugged. "A buffet-style restaurant's the closest I've ever gotten."

"This is unacceptable." Ulquiorra frowned as the elevator door opened onto the fourth floor. He stepped out into the hallway, fishing into his pocket for his keys. "We're not ones for ceremony around here, either, but this year we'll make an exception."

Orihime's nose wrinkled. "It's not that big a deal, Ulquiorra."

"Ms. Inoue, without knowing the joy of eating a proper turkey on Thanksgiving, your life is incomplete," he told her matter-of-factly. She waited behind him as he unlocked the door. "So this year we will celebrate. I'll be sure to tell your brother."

"Wait, you're coming to the cemetery with me?"

Ulquiorra nodded once. "You shouldn't have to go alone," he said as he let her into the apartment ahead of him. "That is, unless you specifically request privacy."

Orihime could have told him to back off, but perhaps bringing him along wouldn't be that bad. Ulquiorra had the uncanny ability to cheer her up, despite being the guy who usually upset her. And if she was going to be saying bad things about him to Sora, she might as well have him there to defend himself.

…

Upon waking the next morning, Orihime sat up on the sofa bed, stretched, and noticed that it was darker in the living room than normal, the lighting having taken on a grayish-blue tint. When she went to the window behind the dining table, she peered outside and saw a steady stream of rain falling over the city, a river of dark clouds moving steadily above the city. "Ah, crap," she muttered. The weather had been so nice in the last few days, too.

Digging up her black dress and some clean under-things, she went to the bathroom to take a shower. Ulquiorra's bedroom was silent. Had she woken up before him? This would be the first time, she thought, but then she remembered that he had a tendency to be lethargic on rainy days. In Washington he had been too high strung to let his guard down, but here in the apartment, she'd noticed that he would move around tiredly whenever the weather was overcast like this. Of course, she didn't blame him. It was perfect sleeping weather.

As she showered, she got to thinking that it had been on such a rainy day that she had been brought here the first time. How long ago had that been? The day she had passed out in the alley, the morning she'd woken up in and broken out of Las Noches. That was in mid-August. In a few more weeks, she would have been here for three months. Whatever happened to only staying until she was strong enough to not jump off of a building? She was pretty sure that she'd reached that point of stability a while ago. And Ulquiorra must have been tired of her by now. Perhaps it was time to start thinking about leaving.

Oh… why did that notion cause her chest to hurt? Had she somehow grown attached to this backwards building and its strange occupants? She could always visit them, but it wouldn't be the same. She'd hear of their antics, but she'd no longer be a part of them, and that was saddening.

By the time she finished in the shower, it was hardly nine. She put on the black dress and brushed her teeth, then stepped out of the bathroom and stood in the hallway, listening. Still no sound. Curious, she walked over to Ulquiorra's closed bedroom door and paused outside of it, pressing her ear against the wood. When nothing changed, she clasped the knob and turned it quietly. It was a good thing that Ulquiorra was neurotic about squeaking doors; his came open silently, and she peered into the darkness.

The curtains were drawn, blocking out so much light that she had to look at the sides of the window to figure out that it was morning. The digital clock on the nightstand was the only other hope of discerning what time it was. Tip-toeing further into the clean space, Orihime stood at the foot of the bed and stared down at Ulquiorra, who was indeed still sleeping. The covers were only about half on, leaving his entire upper body exposed, and while he breathed deeply, he didn't snore. His rumpled shirt had lifted a bit, giving her a decent eyeful of that well-toned body that she had only captured a glimpse of the day she'd met Grimmjow. And his face was so relaxed, so completely defenseless that it was hard to believe that she was looking at the same guy. She was reminded of the day that they'd learned of his father's death, when she had walked in and found him asleep on the couch.

Did she want to wake him up? It looked like his alarm was set, so she decided to leave him alone. This way he couldn't stop her from experimenting in the kitchen! She quietly made her way back out of the room, a grin on her face. The other day she had been looking up recipes online, having gained confidence after successfully preparing the homemade pizzas, and if memory served, there was plenty of bread for grilled cheese sandwiches.

While preparing those, she began to worry that she'd end up a crying mess in front of Ulquiorra again. Once had been bad enough, twice had been downright embarrassing, though she hadn't been able to help it the second time. On both occasions, however, he hadn't called her out on it. In fact, he'd been rather nice. And while she didn't care to break down a third time, at least she knew that she could rely on him to calm her down afterwards. It was a little scary, actually. She decided that she would try very, _very _hard not to.

The smell of food must have alerted Ulquiorra's brain to the possibility that the apartment building could be burned down. He emerged from the hallway a few minutes later, still slightly rumpled, as if he had gotten out of bed in a hurry. "What are you doing?"

Orihime looked up and smiled, placing a plate on the counter in front of the sink, upon which laid a perfectly made grilled cheese sandwich. "Surprise?"

Ulquiorra made no move to get closer. "Is it edible?"

"No, the cheese and bread and butter that we bought the other day all went bad overnight." Orihime took the plate back and picked up the sandwich, taking a savage bite out of the side. "Ungrateful bastard," she muttered around a mouthful of food.

"Hey, that one was mine," Ulquiorra complained, finally coming into the kitchen when he was satisfied that his life wasn't in danger. He stole the plate out of her hand and took a cautious bite out of the sandwich. Hmm. It was rather delicious. Perhaps he shouldn't have panicked so badly when he'd woken up and caught the distinct scent of something toasting. And now she was staring at him expectantly. What, did she want praise? "It's decent for a first try," he said. Orihime scowled and snatched the sandwich back right as he was about to take another bite, then promptly stuffed it into her mouth, glaring at him defiantly. "You're going to choke," he informed her as she struggled to chew the massive lump of bread and cheese. It was rather amusing to watch, like those home video shows where a child riding an electronic toy jeep would be headed straight for their younger sibling; everyone could tell that the disaster was coming, but it was too late to stop it.

Surprisingly enough, Orihime managed to grind the sandwich down enough to swallow it safely. "I'll just give Grimmjow this other one," she said after chasing the food with a decent amount of orange juice. "Jerk."

They headed out a while later, Ulquiorra refusing to go anywhere until the kitchen was clean; something about attracting roaches, which made Orihime question just how sanitary the apartment building was. She directed him as he drove, staring out of the window distractedly. Soon they had left the Hueco Mundo district, passing Urahara's convenience store, Rangiku's apartment building, and then Orihime's. Her nerves were starting to get the better of her. She may have traveled the majority of the city in her prostitute days, but there had always been certain places that she'd avoided returning to. "Turn right," she said as they reached the end of a cheerful looking street. Eventually they passed the backside of the university, and Orihime couldn't help but search the students for any familiar faces. She saw none. Oh well, it was a huge campus.

Ulquiorra noticed that she wasn't nearly as animated as she had been during breakfast. He switched on the window wipers as the rain began to fall hard enough to threaten visibility. "Where exactly are we going?" he asked her, if only to get her talking.

Orihime turned her gaze away from the university. "You'll see."

Soon the college-driven part of the city had been left behind, and the car slowed as they approached a railroad crossing where a train pulled itself past, the flashing warning lights illuminating the gloomy day. Ulquiorra had never gone this far away from downtown. This was the city's west side, which he'd never heard anything good about. Usually when there was a shooting, a drug raid, or a mugging on the news, the report came out of the west side. He was becoming glad that he didn't have an expensive car.

The train finally cleared the road, and the bars lifted to allow them past. The apartment buildings and houses here were old, run down. Broken windows, chipping paint, dilapidated roofs and tiny squares of unkempt yards. They looked particularly bleak against the rainy backdrop. This couldn't have been where Orihime had come from. But soon she told him to stop and pull over. "Right now?" he asked, slowing down but not letting the car come to a complete halt. He wasn't exactly comfortable in this neighborhood, but Orihime insisted, so he pulled into the driveway of a sorry-looking, two story structure that had a _for sale _sign driven into the grass of its dead lawn.

Orihime sighed. "Sorry," she stared out of the rain-splattered windshield at the house in front of them. "Just a quick pit stop." But with that said, she made no move to get out of the car. Ulquiorra stared at her questioningly. "This is where I used to live," she told him, her voice eerily hollow, "where I was born."

The steps leading to the front door looked unstable. One of the upstairs windows was cracked, the roof was in need of repair, and the garage door was dented in places, as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it in a fit of rage. The rundown apartment that Chizuru managed could be considered a great improvement in the face of this sad excuse for a building. Orihime stared at it for a long time, wondering what had compelled her to bring Ulquiorra here. She certainly hadn't planned on doing so. It was as if she had walked him straight into her past, those awful days that nobody in her life but Sora had witnessed.

Her entire body was shaking, but this was part of the process. If she was half as strong as she liked to think she was, she needed to confront this, too. And she had to do it before she went to see Sora, so that he could rest a bit easier, knowing that she'd put it past her.

When Orihime climbed out of the car, Ulquiorra cut the engine and followed suit. There was no way he was letting her go in there alone. The house by itself looked like a place of nightmares; the memories attached to it must have been worse. He watched as she tried the front door and it swung open with a hard push. Whoever was selling the house must not have cared for it that much. Orihime disappeared inside, and he was quick to do the same.

There was a kitchen on the left, and after that, a small living room with a carpet covered in multiple stains. All the furniture had long since been removed. Orihime didn't spend much time down there; she took the stairs on the right, her hand clutching the rail tightly. The entire house smelled like mold and rain, the fumes in the air probably toxic, but when had it not been? She went to the left, turning into the bedroom that overlooked the street. A strange laugh escaped her throat. The walls were still pink, despite being horribly faded. The roof was leaking, a small puddle forming where the rain water seeped in, falling at a steady drip. She stepped forward, her foot meeting with a noisy floorboard.

_Creak_. And suddenly, she was six again, lying wide awake in bed, the covers over her head and her eyes glued to the window. She knew what that sound meant; he was there. He was coming for her. Oh, if she could only get away, run for the safety of the streetlamp. She could see its light from there, beckoning her. But her eyes squeezed shut, her breath quickening, her body paralyzed with fear. Any moment now, she would feel the covers yanked off of her, the hand clasping over her mouth, the whispered threats and the cold, stale, foul-smelling air on her small frame…

A hand fell on her shoulder and a shriek tore from her throat. _Calm down! _she told herself, taking a few steps back. _Calm down, it's just Ulquiorra. _Her shoulder blades poked his chest, and she felt his other hand on her shoulder now, gently turning her around to face him. She must have looked awful, judging by the widening of his eyes. "I think that's enough, Ms. Inoue," he said quietly. She nodded in agreement, glancing back at the pink bedroom.

That man couldn't hurt her anymore. Not when she had Ulquiorra there; no, he would protect her. If he'd saved her from a real threat, he could fight off an imagined one as well.

And as Ulquiorra led her back down the stairs, he considered getting the phone number of the person selling the house. He would buy it, sure. And then he'd burn the fucking place to the ground.

…

The cemetery wasn't far from the neighborhood, though the area it was located in was much nicer. It must have been one of the older graveyards; tall trees with hanging vines shaded the headstones from the pouring rain, and a serene atmosphere drifted over the setting. Orihime hadn't been there since her brother's burial, but her feet still knew just where to take her. In no time at all, she and Ulquiorra stood before the grave marked _Sora Inoue_.

It would occur to her later that perhaps what she'd done next was a little silly, but at the time, she couldn't help herself. Walking out from the protection of Ulquiorra's umbrella, she'd dropped down onto the grass and slid forward until she was lying on her stomach, her dress becoming caked with grass and mud that would be more of a bitch to get out of the fabric than the wrinkles had. No tears, thank goodness. And with her cheek resting on the wet ground, she started off with what she should have told him years ago:

"I'm sorry." It didn't matter that she couldn't bring herself to speak again. Sora had always been good at guessing what she was thinking. She closed her eyes, letting the house's poison be washed away by the rain, by the relief that she felt upon finally apologizing to the most important person in her life, even though she knew that he'd probably already forgiven her. And she thought of the anklet, wet and cool against the skin of her leg. Perhaps she dozed off right there in the grass, because she had something of a strange dream, in which she saw Sora walking with the anklet in hand, the gold chain glimmering in the sun. She'd followed him, already knowing that it was for her. But then someone else had appeared in the light, and Sora had stopped, turning to place the anklet in that person's open palm.

_Of course_, Orihime thought as she came closer, her brother disappearing into the blinding whiteness surrounding them. _I get it now… _Her eyes came to rest upon Ulquiorra, who stood in the light and held out his hand to her, the anklet dropping down, wrapped loosely around two fingers.

It was probably just a silly dream, her mind making romanticized connections that weren't really there. But in a way, it was the truth; through that anklet, Sora had led Orihime to Ulquiorra. And as she reached forward, his fingers lightly brushing against the skin of her hand as he placed the gold chain within it, she decided that perhaps she _would_ stay with him. After all, 'indefinitely' could be as long as she wanted it to be.

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Had you all thinking that Gin was dead for a whole two seconds, huh? Ah, Muse is getting closer to its end! And Orihime might be scheming things. What comes next? Click that review button for more!


	24. These Games We Play

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bleach or any other copyrighted material.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**These Games We Play**

Orihime stared at her reflection in the steamy bathroom mirror, a perfect circle framing her face in the condensation. Her lips pulled back from her teeth, which she then wiped at with her index finger, making sure that they were as spotless as they looked before she took a liberal swig of mouthwash and swished it around her cheeks. Her eyebrows were well kept, and having recently gotten over her period, her skin had made a flawless recovery from the minimal breakouts she usually suffered. Her eyelids were lightly dusted with a glittering shadow that brought out the cloudy gray of her irises. Her hair had been meticulously straightened, parted in such a way that her lengthening bangs were away from her forehead, which she hadn't seen in a few weeks. She leaned forward and spit the mouthwash into the sink, then ran the water to rinse it.

It had been quite the process, getting herself ready for the day ahead. What was the occasion? Oh, nothing special. She'd merely felt like dressing up… at least, that was what she would tell Ulquiorra if he asked, as he was no doubt going to. The poor sap had no idea that the moment he laid eyes on her he would be falling right into her snare.

Orihime was the sort of person who enjoyed playing games. Of course, she had never pursued a man before, but it couldn't have been that different from the shows she had put on for her clients. Be coy, tease their senses, and leave their tongues hanging out of their mouths as they panted after her on their hands and knees. It was all about power. Even when she took on the role of the submissive, she was _always _in control. After the age of eleven, no man had ever gotten away with anything that she hadn't allowed him to.

This experiment would be the same, she thought determinedly. She wouldn't let Ulquiorra catch her off guard again, as he had the day before, when she had come in wearing an outfit that she had recently purchased at _Tiburón _and he'd off-handedly commented that it 'looked surprisingly good on her'.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she'd demanded as he'd effortlessly drawn up a series of chords on the notebook in his lap, and he'd glanced up at her as if her needing to ask had insulted him.

"It means that most women who go around clad in summer dresses and cowboy boots – particularly in the middle of fall – look trashy. Somehow, Ms. Inoue, you have managed to give that outfit class. Congratulations." His condescending tone probably wasn't supposed to make her feel good, but she had been too blind-sided by the compliment to care. He'd told her that she looked nice, albeit in a very roundabout manner. But it had brought back the issue of their 'status', which she had vowed to explore.

And so, she had come to the decision that it was finally time to test the waters. Her inquisitive mind would wait no longer. She wanted to see what kind of responses she could get out of her moody roommate, and what kind of responses he could provoke from her; to satisfy the craving that he'd made her so painfully aware of when he'd kissed her not once, but twice. And when it was all said and done, she would either carve another notch into her bedpost after dismissing the silly notion that he was her so-called perfect fit, or she would do the unthinkable and become addicted to him. Freshly showered and undeniably alluring, she smirked at her reflection as she leaned over the sink and pressed a digit against the foggy glass. She wrote in a neat, looping cursive, stepping back to admire the phrase. _Target: Ulquiorra Schiffer._

The poor guy didn't know what was about to hit him.

A knock sounded on the door, and she hastily wiped the glass. "_Ms. Inoue, I don't normally complain about your bathroom habits, but some of us need to go to work today._" Ulquiorra's voice came from the hallway. Orihime's gray eyes lit up with excitement. Yes, this was great! He would catch her at her absolute finest, before this carefully constructed perfection could be marred by the day's activities. She took a deep breath, put on her most casual expression, turned around and pushed the door open.

_Round One!_

"Sorry about that," she told him with a sweet smile, lingering at his side, "I'd almost forgotten."

Ulquiorra stared at her a moment. For someone who had plans to stay inside that day, she sure was nicely dressed: makeup, hair done, a black jacket over a provocative white top, a ruffled skirt and a red belt. It took only a second for his green eyes to absorb it all, and once he had made note of her strange attire, he reached up and poked her forehead. "How inconsiderate of you," he said before slipping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Orihime stared blankly at the barrier that had been placed between the two of them, rubbing her forehead with a frown. What the hell? Had she just _failed_? No. No, that wasn't possible. Any moment now he was going to come out of the bathroom and act on the wild thoughts there were undoubtedly going through his –

The shower began to run.

_Round One: Victory – Ulquiorra._

Orihime stomped into the kitchen, fuming. There was no way she'd gone through all the effort of making herself look so tempting when she wasn't even planning on going out that day, only to be ignored. What was _wrong _with him? He wanted her, right? He'd initiated both of the kisses that they had shared, so that had to mean _something_. He was a guy. Men didn't kiss women that they weren't in relationships with unless they wanted to take them to bed. She'd seen it plenty of times on TV: Guy drives girl back to her apartment after a shitty day, girl puts on the most pathetic expression she can muster, guy kisses her, things get heated, and then he picks her up and throws her onto the bed and they rut all night. Of course, they usually ended up regretting it the next morning, but she wouldn't know that for sure until she tried.

Oh well. Maybe cooking would help get her mind off of things. She had already asked Ulquiorra for permission to attempt scrambled eggs today, so she prepared those while he finished in the shower. This was just a minor complication, she thought as she glared in the direction of the hallway, catching a glimpse of his naked back when he emerged from the bathroom shirtless and disappeared into his room. She would get him yet.

The eggs came out fine, much to her pleasure. She might have left them in the pan for too long, as they looked a little brown on the sides, but when she tried them the taste and texture blended nicely. A smirk settled onto her face, which she quickly wiped away when Ulquiorra came out of his room a few minutes later, laptop tucked under his arm. _The quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach_, she recalled her boss telling her the other day at work. Ah, the only thing worse than a crying Rangiku was a lovesick Rangiku. Ever since she'd reconnected with Gin – in what Orihime assumed was a physical way, despite her boss's fervent denial – she'd been borderline nuts with joy. It was kind of sickening, but Orihime found it cute when she wasn't being driven up the wall.

"Ulquiorra, breakfast is ready," she called out to him. He had taken a seat on the sofa, his computer open on his lap, and didn't say anything in response. Orihime frowned. Placing one of the bowls into the microwave, she took her own and set it on the table, cautiously pushing down on her chair to make sure it was solid. After Ulquiorra had pranked her with the only chair that had yet to be reassembled, she'd taken extra care when sitting down on anything. "Hey, did you hear me?"

"Mmhmm," he muttered in response, staring at the laptop screen.

_Round Two!_

"I thought you had to work today," Orihime said as she ventured over to the living room, reluctantly leaving the bowl of scrambled eggs on the table. Ulquiorra watched his computer intently, even when she flopped down a few feet away from him, the motion jostling both of them.

"Oh, I do, just not until ten-thirty." His green eyes flickered in her direction once. "My eight o'clock had a prior engagement."

She nodded silently, having one of those moments where she imagined a little angel and devil version of herself perched on either of her shoulders, bickering over what to do next. Usually Angel Orihime was telling her _not _to do something; but currently she was arguing with Devil Orihime on _how _to go about their business. The dark side was winning.

Orihime chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, then without further ado, she pulled her legs up onto the sofa and crawled over to Ulquiorra on all fours, leaning in closer to get a glance at his computer screen. "What in the world are you looking at?" she asked him. It was a weird music program of some sort; currently he was programming notes into it, navigating the screen faster than she could keep up. Obviously, he'd been using it for a while. Tossing her head a bit, she made sure that he would get a good whiff of her rose-scented hair, using the curtain of red to hide the devious smile that slipped on and off of her face in a matter of seconds. "Oh, that's neat. I guess you use that for all of your compositions, huh?"

Ulquiorra saved the progress on his piece, ready to give her a lecture on proximity and how much distance mattered to some people – him especially. But the moment he turned his head, his nose brushed against hers. Good God! When had she gotten so close? Her wide gray eyes bore into his with a curiosity far too innocent to be honest, and the fact that she wasn't pulling away, wasn't blushing and apologizing for the awkward situation that they were currently in only solidified in his mind that this was one hundred percent intentional.

Plus, the fact that her nicely defined cleavage was _right there _didn't help matters much.

Orihime's angel and devil personas were squealing in delight, demanding her to move. _He isn't pulling back! Get him! He's right where you want him_! Her gaze zeroed in on his mouth. There was the prize; all she had to do was inch forward and claim it.

The phone rang. Blinking once, Ulquiorra turned away and stood from the sofa, placing the laptop in the spot he had formerly occupied before going to answer it. Orihime had to catch herself before she fell over onto the computer, and she let out an audible growl, glaring at the back of his head as he lifted the chiming cell phone to his ear. "Hello?" She waited, watching him. He stood silently, one hand in his pocket, staring out the window.

Really? _Really? _Orihime cleared her throat. "Who is it?" she whispered between clenched teeth.

Ulquiorra placed the phone against his chest and looked at her over his shoulder. "A telemarketer."

_Round Two: Victory – Ulquiorra._

Orihime sat back down on her legs. Words could not describe her anger. She had half a mind to chuck the laptop at his head – perhaps that would get his attention. She'd all but thrust her boobs into his face, for crying out loud! Turning herself to face the television, she hoisted his computer onto her own lap and opened up an internet browser. Stupid, ungrateful Ulquiorra! She knew plenty of men who would have killed to be in that position. Maybe she would trash all of his files… oh, but she wasn't exactly computer savvy, so she wouldn't even know where to begin. The fact that she had the internet at her fingertips was still a dazzling concept. A search bar at the top of Ulquiorra's homepage called out to her invitingly. _Come and learn, young one! Fall into the temptation of acquiring all the useless information you can grasp!_

"You can use that if you'd like," Ulquiorra told her once he was off of the phone, "just shut it down when you're finished." He saw the bowl of scrambled eggs that she had left on the table and sighed, picking it up and bringing it over to her. "And you really ought not to let the food that you worked so hard on get cold."

Orihime blinked, having forgotten all about breakfast. "Umm… thanks." She took it from him and, remembering that she was angry, glared at his computer screen. "Yours are in the microwave," she grumbled. Ulquiorra nodded and disappeared from her peripheral vision, taking his body heat and comforting scent with him. Damn it, damn it, damn it! She stabbed at the eggs angrily, then took a deep breath. It was stupid of her to be getting so upset over this. After all, she would have plenty of time to trap him. If the phone hadn't rung, he wouldn't have pulled away from her, right?

All of the sudden she was feeling self conscious again. Looking up into the television's black screen, she scrutinized her reflection as she chewed her eggs. Where had her confidence disappeared to? Hadn't she been eyeing herself in the mirror appreciatively not even an hour ago? Ugh! Now she remembered that such was the reason that she hated Ulquiorra: he made her feel ugly without even trying!

She needed some reassurance, some girl time. Nel had early classes that day, so she should have been home soon. Maybe she would text her and together they could go bother Tia. She had promised Starrk that she would talk to the beautiful designer on his behalf anyway. Oh, but she couldn't let them get wind of the fact that she was trying to seduce Ulquiorra for experimental purposes. They would probably get the wrong idea and start saying that she liked him or something. She frowned down at her empty bowl, having finished the eggs. What kind of masochist would fall for guy like Ulquiorra?

He left the apartment at around ten, promising that he would be back no later than five, as he'd had to reschedule someone for an afternoon lesson. Orihime grunted a half-assed goodbye, wondering what kind of mind-numbing games she could find on the internet to keep herself busy until Nel returned from school. Outside, the weather was still gloomy, rain threatening to spill from the heavens at any second. Was it going to stay like this all of November? The storms would wash all of the foliage down the city's drainage pipes, prematurely stripping the poor trees. She looked out the window, vaguely wondering if Urahara was dishing out pumpkin pie yet. With all the Thanksgiving preparations being made behind her back – to ensure that she had the most special Turkey Day she'd ever experienced – she had quickly stepped up and told everyone that she would at least take care of dessert.

At least Urahara wouldn't be able to resist a request from her in this outfit.

Orihime minimized the internet window and scanned the icons on Ulquiorra's desktop, which featured a picture of Andante, Allegro, Caprice and Fortissimo frolicking on a beach somewhere in Washington state. The stoic pianist had been close to excited when his mother had sent him the photo, then had taken to insisting that Orihime look at it every few minutes. No, thank you. Fortissimo had been enough of an eyesore in person.

Among the icons, she found a folder with a title that caught her attention. _The Search._ Search forwhat? She moved the mouse over it with her finger, hesitating. Should she really open it? Well, it wasn't like he was going to find out anyway. Besides, if it had been something that he didn't want her to see, he would have kept it on one of his password protected flash drives that she'd tried breaking into once upon a time. She tapped the mouse pad twice and a window popped up with a series of neatly labeled documents, all of which had musical notes that matched the icon of the program he had been using earlier. Casting a paranoid look around the room – though it was obvious that no one was home to catch her – Orihime clicked on the first file. The music program opened, and she soon found herself staring at a piece that had simply been titled _Meaning_. "Hmm…" There was a play option on the program's toolbar that was just begging to be pressed. She smiled and clicked it once. A line appeared that began to move across the screen, and as it hit the notes, the sound of the piano came from the computer's speakers.

Orihime blinked once, twice, three times. She knew this song. It was the one that she had heard Ulquiorra struggling with the day she had come back for her anklet. So he'd finished it, then? Ah, it was so nice! Like a breath of fresh air.

Once that one had ended, she found herself eager to listen to the others as well. Clicking on the next in the series, the piece popped up in a matter of seconds; it was titled _Trust_. She pressed the play button and listened as the moving line lit up the notes, excitement taking hold of her. This one she had _definitely _heard before. It was the piece Ulquiorra had played for her on her birthday, the improviso. He had effortlessly replicated it onto his computer from memory. And as soon as it ended, Orihime had the third piece highlighted, desperate to hear it.

_Reason_. _Acceptance. Forgiveness_… oh, she knew that one, too. It was the song Ulquiorra had written for his father's funeral. The others must have been the compositions that he had been working on while she was freaking out about having dinner with her high school friends. There was one more song, which was the one that he'd probably been writing when she – and the telemarketer – had interrupted him: _Substance_. She decided not to listen to it, preferring to hear it when he'd finished.

So this was the suite, huh? It was certainly beautiful, and when played one after the other, each composition seemed to continue where the previous had left off. Orihime smiled and closed out the program. Perhaps someday she could ask him to play it for her. But for now, she would text Nel and set up an afternoon of fun. There was no way she was going to stay bored in the apartment when she looked and felt so good.

Forget Ulquiorra. His window of opportunity had just slammed shut.

…

It should have been humorous, and yet he wasn't laughing. Ulquiorra stared at the wall behind the piano in the music room, mechanically correcting his clumsy student whenever he picked out a mistake among the chords that the sixteen-year-old girl hammered out with no thought to the fact that the piece was marked with a _pp_. No, her playing was about subtle as the crush that she had been sporting on him since her boyfriend had dumped her over the summer. The shy glances, the apologies that tumbled from her lips whenever she missed a note, the jasmine perfume that she was sure to wear in the hopes that he would be enticed enough to bend her over the bench and scold her for being so naughty as to develop feelings for her piano teacher… or whatever the hell teenage girls got off to these days. He didn't know. He didn't care. She could find a sympathy fuck elsewhere.

Ah, it was so _irritating_. He couldn't concentrate. His mood had turned south the moment Ms. Inoue had come out of the bathroom and attempted to flirt with him. But it wasn't really a bad mood, was it? No, if he could be completely honest with himself, he would have thought that he was downright giddy, and that unnerved him. The creepy smirk on his face must have been putting off his student as well, as she suddenly remembered how to play correctly.

Did that woman realize what she had done? Could she have known that she had just sealed her fate by challenging him in his own domain? He supposed this was what happened when two conflicting personalities ended up clashing within a small space. Oh, but how would he handle this? "The E is flat there, not natural. Be careful. Notice the changing key signature," he told the girl, who nodded and shyly tried again.

Well, if this teenager and her domination fantasies – which he only assumed were there – were anything to go by, he knew the perfect way to go about his mission. Oh, yes. He could see it now.

Ms. Inoue liked to play games, that much was certain. It was also becoming apparent that a prostitute with a personality like hers was used to being in charge. How in the world could she possibly think that, just because he was _such _a generous guy, that she would be allowed to have her way in _his home_? How could she so heartlessly play with his feelings like that? He wouldn't stand for this. It was almost as unacceptable as her lack of a proper Thanksgiving experience, which he was already working on fixing, so why not deal with this, too? The piano piece ended with no more errors, and he looked down at his student, replacing his earlier expression with the same serene smile he gave the old ladies in Las Noches. "Very good," he told her.

Orihime Inoue was going to be punished.

…

"What? No way!"

"_It's true,_" Tia signed to Nel, who provided a translation for Orihime. The three of them sat in her living room on the third floor, listening to – or rather, watching – her recount her high school days. Apparently she had known Starrk since way back then; they'd both been on the school basketball teams, and often ended up hanging out after practices. But in that time they were more acquaintances than anything else. He'd found it laughable that she wanted to be a fashion designer, and she'd found it laughable that he wanted to be a songwriter.

"God, and I thought Gin and Rangiku were disgusting," Orihime said with a wry smirk. "It's hard to imagine you physically speaking to anyone."

Tia rolled her eyes. "_It's not like it matters. We lost track of each other after graduation. Imagine my surprise when I moved in a few years ago and found him here."_

Nel smiled. "He still likes you."

The older woman nodded once, her gaze lowering to the floor. Orihime eyed her curiously. So she'd met Starrk in high school, been separated from him throughout their college years, and then met again after the accident that had caused her to go mute. "Was he shocked? You know, to find that you weren't speaking anymore?"

"_Of course._" She paused, then continued. "_I used to talk to Lilynette all the time when she was a toddler. Their parents had been having problems back then, so Starrk would be stuck babysitting her, not wanting her around all the negativity – that's what he said, anyway. She and I really bonded; well, as much as a two-year-old could bond with anyone. It was almost like having another little sister._" Her hands fell to her sides, her eyes pinched with sorrow.

Oh dear. Orihime felt a twinge of regret, asking her such a personal question. She hadn't meant for her to recall something painful. But now that she was there, she felt this nagging on her conscience that she had learned to ignore because it often landed her into trouble. Unfortunately, her mouth was open before she could stop it. "I'm sure they don't blame you. Your sisters, I mean." Oh, what the hell. She'd never been good at controlling her tongue anyway, and now she had arrested Tia's full attention. "Being a younger sibling myself, if it had been me and Sora, I wouldn't hold it against him. It's not your fault that the accident happened. That's why it's called an accident, right?"

Tia stared at her with such devastation in her eyes that Orihime flinched and looked away. "I'm sorry. That was really stupid of me to say." She fidgeted uncomfortably. Nel's hands fluttered helplessly, her wide eyes darting back and forth between the two.

"Umm," she snapped on a nervous smile, "how about we go get something to eat?"

Tia sniffled, causing the other two to watch her guiltily as she wiped tears from her cheeks. She tried to sign something to them, but her arms shook too much for Nel to translate. Whimpering in frustration, the woman let out a half-cough, half-sob, which only made Orihime feel even worse. But then, much to her surprise, Tia stood from her seat and walked over to the redhead, pulling her up and embracing her tightly. "N-No one… has ever said that to me before," she whispered.

Nel squeaked, clamping a hand over her mouth. Orihime's eyes widened. Had Tia Harribel just _spoken_? Certainly none of them had been expecting that when they'd woken up in the morning. Orihime returned the embrace, doing her best to smile when Tia drew back a moment later. She took a few deep breaths, blinking back the rest of her tears. "I'm such a big baby." Her voice was still soft, despite being more audible than before. "But thank you, Orihime. I really needed to hear that." She hesitated for a second, and then slowly, she reached up and unzipped the high-collared jacket that covered her mouth.

It wasn't fair. That was Orihime's first thought as she laid eyes upon Tia's unobstructed form. She was _gorgeous_, but the right side of her face was marred by a grotesque scar that stretched all the way from the corner of her mouth to her ear, like a hideous grin. The younger pair tried not to cringe, if only because they couldn't imagine the pain that the wound had undoubtedly put her through, both physically and emotionally. "D-Do you want me to get you a tissue?" Nel asked her, standing from the arm chair she had been seated in.

"Oh, sure," Tia's lashes fluttered and two more tears managed to escape. She pursed her lips together, her brows furrowing and eyes squeezing shut. "I'm sorry."

Orihime walked over and touched her arm comfortingly. "Hey, don't be! You're making baby steps, and that's much better than nothing." She smiled, and Tia gazed down at her, smiling in return. Argh! How could one person be so brain-meltingly pretty? She should have been a model, not the woman making clothes for them!

In their emotional moment, none of them had heard the front door open until it was too late. "Tia?"

The exotic beauty gasped sharply and turned her back towards the entrance where Starrk stood frozen, his hand still on the knob. Nel also came in then, stopping when she saw him. There was a tense silence in which Tia fumbled with the zipper of her jacket, which had gotten stuck and didn't seem too keen on moving, and then eventually gave up, covering her face with her hands. Starrk looked at Orihime. She jerked her head in Tia's direction, mouthing a silent _Now's your chance _before darting behind him and giving him a hard push in the older woman's direction. Starrk stumbled forward, quickly regaining his composure. "Tia…?" She flinched in surprise at the proximity of his voice. Her head snapped up and she pivoted on her heel, hand still covering her mouth as she began walking for the hallway. "Tia, wait!"

Nel moved out of the way before the two came closer to her, joining Orihime by the door. They watched as Starrk caught Tia by the arm, turning her around to face him, ignoring her protests. She shook her head furiously, whimpering. "Please," he begged her, trying to make eye contact. She did her best to shield herself, but he reached up with both hands and placed them over hers in a peaceful gesture, not even attempting to move them. "Tia, look at me," Starrk whispered, keeping his hands on hers, though she had begun to cry even harder than before, her entire body heaving with sobs. "It's okay," he said soothingly. "It's alright… please, don't be sad."

Very slowly, Tia removed her hands from her face, which was now red and blotchy and wet, with strands of blond hair stuck to her cheeks. But Starrk didn't seem to mind; in fact, a wide smile stretched across his own face as his thumbs moved over her skin, attempting to dry the salty tears that spilled over her eyelids. "Ah, I was right," he touched his forehead to hers, his hands withdrawing so that his arms could wrap around her waist, "you're as beautiful as you've always been, Tia."

Orihime sighed a bit longingly at the sight. Could it possibly be that what she was witnessing, what she was seeing with her own two eyes, _that _was love? She shook the notion quickly and tapped Nel on the shoulder. "Let's go," she whispered, pulling the front door open. But as they slipped out into the hallway, she couldn't help but look back over her shoulder at the two who stood happy in each other's arms, the degree of emotion between them a thousand times sharper and more powerful than anything television could ever hope to imitate.

…

Always a man of his word, Ulquiorra returned before the clock struck five. By then Orihime had been home for quite some time, and had even napped to recharge her emotional batteries. Unfortunately, the weather was still gloomy outside. She was kind of expecting Ulquiorra to be tired after spending the entire day dealing with people who could never hope to be as godly on the piano as he was. Instead, she'd found him to have somewhat of an annoying spring in his step, which reminded her that she was angry with him.

Orihime hadn't felt like waiting for dinner, so she had gone ahead and heated up one of those microwavable pizzas that she'd stocked up on when they'd ventured to Wal-Mart. This put her in the kitchen doing the dishes when Ulquiorra had initially walked in through the front door, a plastic shopping bag hanging from his arm. "What's that?" she asked him.

"The sparkling apple cider for Thanksgiving dinner," he replied as he joined her in the kitchen, pulling the refrigerator door open. "You'd be surprised how quickly the stores run out of it when the time comes."

"Huh." Orihime stayed out of his way as he walked past her, crumpling up the plastic bag to store with the extras in the pantry. She cut off the sink and turned to wipe her hands on the dish towel hanging off of the oven door, completely unaware of the fact that Ulquiorra was now staring at her with something of a predatory gleam in his eyes. "How were your students today?" The remaining droplets of water she absently wiped off on her ruffled skirt. When she didn't get a response, she looked up at him…

…and found him standing right in front of her.

_Round Three!_

"What…" Orihime didn't get another word out of her mouth. The intensity and vibrancy of Ulquiorra's dark green irises startled her, sealed off her throat with an impenetrable wall of steel, but not before a tiny squeak announced the strangulation of her vocal chords. He stood, back straight, hands in his pockets, just _looking _at her. It was almost terrifying, the way his narrowed gaze held hers in a manner that was nothing less than livid. And the silence that endured between them was permeated only by the sound of the television on in the living room, a judge yelling at the parents of two teenagers having a dispute over a Craigslist sale gone awry. A million thoughts began to stampede through her mind, but they halted the moment he took one leisurely step towards her, then another.

And for some reason Orihime found herself moving away from him. Hadn't she had this scenario once when she'd first moved in? Right, this was the part where she learned that he was a serial killer or a vampire, and he was out for her blood. The bad part about _this _particular daydream was that one, it was real, and two, she had no weapons nearby to defend herself.

And of course, the scariest of her realizations was that she didn't _want _to run from him. Wish fulfillment came in the form of the refrigerator, which she had unwittingly backed herself into, her hands splaying out against its cold black door as if it would save her from whatever Earth-shattering event was about to take place. Remarkably, for being so damn panicked, her breathing was nice and even and deep. Perhaps her body was trying to keep her energy reserved for the fight-or-flight that was bound to come next. Ulquiorra's shadow fell over her as he came closer still, and her gray eyes widened, her pupils expanding as he blocked out what little light came in from the window.

Slowly, he withdrew one hand from the recesses of his pocket, lifting it as a conductor would raise his baton, and the orchestra that was her body fell rapt at attention. Now was the time, the performance of a lifetime. Breathe in, breathe out. She couldn't tear her gaze away from his, not even as he reached for her and the cold skin of his fingertips made contact with her undoubtedly flushed cheek. He, as the conductor, had commanded her lungs to falter and the breath obediently left her in a shuddering sigh. Nothing was _happening_, she tried to tell herself. All he had done was touch… oh, his hand was moving, those talented digits barely there, traveling downwards… where was it going? Another unspoken order constricted her airways as those long fingers slid torturously down the length of her neck, his thumb gracing her collarbone with a light stroke.

This was absurd. She couldn't believe the embarrassing reactions her body was forming with such a simple touch. And his eyes had yet to break from hers, but they betrayed nothing. She may as well have been staring at a rock… no, there _was _something there. At least, she thought there might be. Maybe she was going insane. She had to be. There was no way that Ulquiorra, of all people, was doing this to her.

He drew closer still. How much distance was left between them? He didn't seem too keen on leaving any. Orihime's back pressed harder into the refrigerator as he ducked his head down to her level – he hadn't had to move far, being as short as he was – and, with a slight narrowing of the lids, his eyes broke away from hers. But the pressure remained; he had paralyzed her, motioning with that deft hand for her feet to remain rooted in their spot, and they had no choice but to do just that. Black hair intertwined with thin red strands, his smooth cheek coming to rest upon hers. And she thought it couldn't get any worse until, turning his head ever so slightly, his lips brushed against her skin.

With that, Orihime began to feel a bit lethargic. Her eyelids drooped, suddenly heavy, the millions of frantic thoughts that had been sprinting inside of her skull fleeing into the darkness. Her grip on the refrigerator loosened as her arms dropped to her sides, useless. He'd silenced those too, damn it. What sort of sinful composition had he written for her body today?

The rustle of fabric alerted her stupefied brain that something was changing, but the feeling of his lips pressing delicately against the corner of her mouth forced another choppy breath from her straining lungs. And then she sensed the second hand, freed from his pocket at last, joining the first at the base of her neck. He could have strangled her to death and she wouldn't have noticed until Sora tapped her on the shoulder and demanded to know why she had gotten off on being choked out by a psycho. But these hands weren't there to hurt her; they applied pressure, sure, but only to manipulate the angle at which her head was tilted. Her hair, having been straightened to perfection that morning, fell away from her skin without a fuss. But just to be certain… his fingers threaded through the silky strands, keeping her head back, the flesh of her neck exposed to him. Oh God, he wouldn't…

Of course he would. At the same moment his hands had seized her hair, his mouth had aligned with her jaw, and her eyes fluttered shut, plummeting her into darkness as he gently kissed the place where her erratic pulse could be felt. Her once limp arms flew up into what little space there was between them, her nails biting into the front of his shirt, fisting the material as if it were all that held her to the world of the living. And that one kiss was soon followed by another, and another, his lips striking her body like lightning as they carved a path from her ear to her collar. Her legs felt like noodles. She couldn't take much more of this, she knew. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip hard, trying to keep in the pants that left her mouth each time the relentless baton that he conducted so flawlessly with struck a beat. And then without warning, without the tiniest shred of mercy, his lips pulled back and one torturously human canine met her tender skin.

That was it. Her mouth fell open, her back came off of the refrigerator, and his hands were quick to plant themselves firmly on her hips to prevent them from coming anywhere near his. But it was too late, he'd already heard it; the wanting moan that had wrapped itself around her tongue and formed into one articulated word: "_Ulquiorra_…"

It was the sound of a woman who had never wanted sex so badly in her life.

Ulquiorra released his hold on her hips and took a step away from her. Without his support, the fingers that had gripped his shirt so tightly loosened, her legs finally giving in to gravity as she fell to her knees in a daze. His eyebrow arched, hands returning to his pockets. "Cool," he muttered, walking away from her, feeling much better now that he had exacted revenge.

If anyone in that apartment was going to be in control, it was going to be him.

_Round Three: Victory – Ulquiorra._

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Poor Orihime. Just can't win today, can she?

Now that you're all fanning yourselves, click that review button and yell at Ulquiorra for being so gosh-darned in control of himself.


	25. Separation Anxiety

**Disclaimer: **Ownership of Bleach is Tite Kubo's, not mine!

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Separation Anxiety**

It really was too cold to be playing basketball. And yet, a good deal of the Las Noches residents had ventured from the warmth of their homes, trekking to the court down the street from the building to observe the game in progress. It was Team Tomato versus Team Potato, with Szayel acting as both referee and scorekeeper, though he wasn't doing a very good job at either. "Watch out!" Grimmjow yelled as Starrk ran past Ulquiorra with the ball, jumping up and sinking the orange globe into the net effortlessly. There was a smattering of applause, and Ulquiorra blinked slowly, having done nothing to prevent the point from being made. Why was he even there? He wasn't exactly the athletic type, and it was freezing outside.

"Woo! Way to be one hell of a loser, Paco!" Orihime yelled from where she sat on the bench, watching. Next to her, Nel bounced eagerly in place, Rangiku laughed out loud at the awful display of teamwork, Gin wore an amused grin, Momo giggled shyly, and Tia blushed a bit as Lilynette nudged her in the ribs.

"Show them who's boss, bro!" the preteen yelled enthusiastically.

"Damn it all to hell, Ulquiorra! What the fuck was that?" Grimmjow demanded, jabbing his shorter teammate in the chest. "You've got to be the lousiest basketball player in the world; even Luppi's putting up more of a fight than you!"

"Don't be too hard on him, Grimmy!" Luppi called out from the sidelines, where he held the ball, waiting for the fight to be over so he could pass it and the game could resume. "It would be better if we had five-man teams, but Gin's still unable to run around and we couldn't get anyone else to come along," he said, spinning the ball on his index finger.

The quiet Kira cleared his throat. "Besides, I think we're at a _slight _disadvantage," he murmured, and the four glanced at their competition. Staring them down were Starrk, Nnoitra, Toshiro, and Yammy; a former high school basketball star, a seven-foot monster, an agile pipsqueak, and a behemoth. Team Potato was truly a force to be reckoned with. Grimmjow snorted.

"I ain't fuckin' losing to you freaks!" he yelled, shaking his fist at them. "Luppi, pass it!" And with that the game continued, Szayel yawning in boredom and checking his phone, missing a foul against the blue haired Frenchman courtesy of the maintenance man. Ulquiorra made no effort to move, eyeing the ball and hoping that it didn't end up in his hands. Really, it was all such a bother. He could have been doing something productive.

"So," Rangiku leaned over Nel and poked Orihime's forearm, "your boyfriend's kind of a lump."

"He's not my boyfriend!" Orihime snapped, the comment causing Ulquiorra to look her way and, as a consequence, get nailed with the basketball. The audience let out an 'ooh' that prompted Orihime to look back at him, wondering why he was crouching on the ground and clutching his head. "What happened to him?" she asked as he fell over onto his side with a groan, Yammy apologizing repeatedly, Szayel rushing over to check his vitals. "Anyway," she turned to Rangiku with a fierce glare, "he _isn't _my boyfriend." Her face flamed with rage and embarrassment at the memory of their last encounter, which had left her with the need for a cold shower and a ton of chocolate. In fact, she'd had to run out and get some that very night, then she had sat in front of the television and eaten herself sick. And that _smug bastard had acted like he hadn't done anything_. So she had shoved celery up his nose while he was sleeping.

"Uh-huh," Rangiku said, not buying it for one second.

"Go, Mr. Nnoitra!" Nel cheered happily. On the court, Grimmjow tripped and lost the ball, which Toshiro grabbed and began driving towards the hoop.

"Over here, kid!" Nnoitra crouched down, allowing the teenager to jump up onto his back, run up to his shoulders, then leap and dunk the ball. The gathered crowd cheered loudly. Momo clapped and yelled enthusiastically while Grimmjow came over to where Nel sat with an innocent smile.

"Hey,"

"Yes?"

"Why are you cheering for _him _and not me?"

Nel grinned and caressed his cheek. "My love, I cannot be biased because you are my boyfriend," she said in a suspiciously seductive voice that had Orihime inching away from her on the bench. Then she switched languages, speaking French in a husky tone that brought a silly smile to Grimmjow's face. Orihime rolled her eyes and glanced over at Ulquiorra, who had recovered from whatever had happened to him, and stood sulking by Luppi, who was forming a rivalry with Toshiro. He looked so sullen. Poor guy.

"What's the score?" Starrk asked Szayel, and all eyes turned on the pink-haired doctor, who stared back at them and shrugged.

"Hell if I know."

"Oh, for the love of God!" Luppi yelled.

Ulquiorra lifted his hand. "If Gin cannot play because he is injured, then I think I might have a slight concussion. May I sit down?"

"No!" Grimmjow barked.

"It's alright," and now everyone turned their attention on Tia, who stood from the bench and rolled her shoulders. "I will fill in for Mr. Schiffer," she said, her eyes narrowing at Starrk, who met her challenging glare with one of his own. Sensing that things were about to get interesting, Orihime stretched out her booted legs, unaware of the fact that Nel and Rangiku had shuffled over to fill the blank Tia had left, leaving space for Ulquiorra to sit next to her.

"That was exhausting," he declared tiredly as he dropped down beside her.

Orihime shot him a flat look. "You weren't even doing anything." She drew her jacket tighter around herself. Geez, had it gotten colder? Glancing up at the sky, she was about to curse the weather when something wet landed on her nose. "Eh?" Her eyes opened a bit wider. Drifting down from the cloud cover, flurries had begun to descend upon the city like millions of tiny parachutes, a foreign army ready to invade. A huge beam spread across Orihime's face, and she seized Ulquiorra's arm, her anger at him momentarily forgotten. "Look!" she cried, pointing upwards. He lifted his head, as did several others, the quiet storm bringing a hush over the group. "First snow of the year!"

"It came early," Ulquiorra noted. His gaze settled on her profile, taking in the rosy cheeks, the dazzling smile, the enchantment in her gray eyes. It was a look that he never would have thought her capable of a few months ago. In the beginning she had hardly ever worn her emotions so openly, always guarded, never wanting to show her back to anyone. Now it took little to make her laugh, and she would hum cheerfully whenever she was dressing the sofa bed or doing her laundry. Sure she was still a bit rough around the edges, but she was definitely different. Had she noticed the change, he wondered?

_Maybe it would be alright_. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, welcoming the cold snowflakes as they gently landed on his face. Maybe he could get away with keeping the truth hidden away from her. This new Orihime didn't have to be, nor did she probably want to be, bothered by the silly details of the past. It wouldn't change anything, would it?

Ah, too bad he knew better.

…

The basketball game was far from over when Orihime decided that she was freezing her ass off and wanted to go home. She had yet to purchase a decent winter jacket, having assumed that the seriously cold weather wouldn't start until at least December, and there was no way that she would ask Ulquiorra for his. He'd hand it over after a considerable amount of whining, which would lead the gossip queens to poke and prod at her later. No, thank you. And so she made the trek back to Las Noches in the snow with the silent pianist at her side. He'd fallen into some weird mood that she didn't feel like questioning him about; though if she had to admit it, she was a tad bit worried. But _just _a bit. He could take care of himself; he was a big boy. Which reminded her, "Hey, your birthday is coming up."

Ulquiorra blinked. "I suppose it is," he replied slowly. His last few birthdays hadn't been too interesting – mostly just Grimmjow trying to hook him up with a stripper – so he had a tendency to forget.

"What do you want me to get you?" Was it silly that Orihime had been saving up a small sum of money to get him a gift? It wouldn't be anything special. Hell, it'd be the only present she gave him; if he thought he was getting two just because Christmas was around the corner, he was sadly mistaken. She stopped as he reached forward and opened the doors to the lobby, letting her in ahead of him. "And I do mean something reasonably priced. I'm not buying you a new car, or paying your bills, though I will take you to get your eyebrows waxed."

"Ms. Inoue, all that I want for my birthday is for my pet dragon to be there to celebrate it with me," Ulquiorra said, giving her a humorless look that made her heart do a weird twist. "If you can get me that, I'll be satisfied." He pressed the elevator button and the one on the left opened for them. Orihime quickly recovered from his statement.

"T-That isn't a real gift," she said, crossing her arms. "I meant something that I can spend money on."

"In that case, I would like a new car and all of my bills paid."

"You know what? I'm getting you a Mr. Potato Head."

They arrived on the fourth floor, Orihime sighing with relief when she felt the blast of the heater on her frigid skin. She peeled off her jacket before they had even reached the apartment, remembering her love-hate relationship with winter, and vaguely wondering where she would be when the season ended. Come spring, she might have already left the apartment and sallied forth into whatever new adventures lay ahead. Surely Ulquiorra must have sensed this, asking for her presence on his birthday like that. But if she _did _leave, it wouldn't be before New Year's. Maybe a few days after, when all the parties were over. Still, she hadn't really talked to him about it, nor had she given it much thought. It was almost as if she didn't want to go.

"By the way, Ms. Inoue, were you successful in putting in the order for the pumpkin pie?" Ulquiorra asked her as he unlocked the door.

Orihime grinned, stepping into the apartment, remembering the look on Urahara's face when she had shown up at the pie shop wearing an outfit that had given him a stunning display of both her cleavage and her legs. "Of course! Kisuke and I are good friends. He was more than happy to do it," she said, waving her hand and laughing out loud. Ulquiorra blinked slowly, not wishing to know what had transpired between her and the shop owner. "Hey, so, here's a thought. How about we go ice skating for your birthday? The outdoor rink down in Karakura Town usually opens for business by Thanksgiving."

"I can't ice skate."

"Oh." She frowned. "Okay, we could stay home and watch all of those animated holiday films that they run on the family channels. _Jack Frost, The Little Drummer Boy, Santa Claus is Coming To Town_…"

"I'd rather not," Ulquiorra answered, not even breaking his stride as he made his way towards his bedroom. Orihime watched him disappear into the darkness. Oh God, he wasn't keeping _more _secrets, was he? Did he have some weird thing with Christmas because the only girl he had ever loved in his youth had died that month? Or maybe that was when he had been abandoned by his mother. Even better: he'd been turned into a vampire on Christmas Eve. Yup, that was totally it. Maybe she would hit up a blood bank and get him the rarest type they had. It wouldn't make him feel better, but at least he wouldn't be hungry.

She sighed, removing her shoes before getting a running start and attempting to jump over the sofa, only to hit her stomach against the top of it. Ouch. She frowned and wriggled until she had successfully slid onto the cushions below, glad that Ulquiorra hadn't been there to witness her failure. But as she lay there, pondering the possibility of leaving, she realized that she would miss him… to an extent. The mood swings, she wouldn't miss. His sarcastic attitude and insistence upon calling her a dragon, definitely not. Oh, and she didn't even want to get started on his neurotic tendencies.

Well, that was Ulquiorra in a nutshell. What _would _she miss about him, then?

"Move over." He had come back into the living room, jacket and shoes off, looking a bit more comfortable. Orihime sat up and made a space for him on the sofa. "I've been giving this some serious thought lately," he said, catching her attention, "and I think I might… not anytime soon, mind you… I might want to start playing professionally again."

Her gray eyes widened. "Really?" Oh, the classical music world was going to go nuts. "That's great!" she cried, wondering why he hadn't brought it up before. "I'm sure your family would be very happy to see you perform again." Sitting back and crossing her legs, she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, noticing that he didn't look half as thrilled as she felt. If anything, he seemed like he was about to be sick. Well, she supposed that there were still some bad memories to get over, and the vicious record company to deal with. "Don't worry about it," she said, patting his arm. "You're going to knock them dead when you get up there with all those new compositions."

"Hmm," Ulquiorra stared at the blank TV screen. "You aren't wrong about that."

Orihime rolled her eyes. She turned herself to face the television as well. But her thoughts started wandering in a gloomy direction, and after a moment, she leaned over until her head was resting on his shoulder. He looked down at her, his expression one of surprise. "I guess with all of that publicity, you can't really have me hanging around here anymore, huh?" Her voice had lowered significantly.

Ulquiorra felt a chill run down his spine, as if someone had dragged an ice cube from the base of his neck to the edge of his jeans. What a strange pain in his chest. He didn't like it. For her to suddenly say something like that… it couldn't have been a random notion. "How long have you been thinking about leaving?" he asked after a considerable silence had passed.

Orihime shrugged. "I don't know, since a few days after Halloween, I suppose." Was it her imagination, or had she sensed his body tensing? "Oh, but I'd come visit and stuff. It's not like I live all that far away. Actually, I'd move into the building, but I don't think I could afford an apartment here." That would be nice, she thought wistfully. As strange as they all were, she could no longer imagine life without the residents of Las Noches; the songwriter Starrk and the swimmer Lilynette, the designer Tia, the monstrous Yammy and his adorable puppy, the eternally-smiling Gin and the bound-to-move-in-soon Rangiku, the flamboyant Luppi, the playboy Nnoitra, the angry Grimmjow, the bubbly Nel… and of course, Ulquiorra, the most irritating guy she had ever met. The bridge of her nose began to prickle. She pinched it quickly, hoping to stop the tears before they worked their way up. "Who knows," she said quietly, "maybe I'll just stay here and mooch off of your forever."

Ulquiorra resisted the urge to scoop her into his arms. "That would be… troublesome," he murmured, but they both knew that he didn't mean it.

Orihime's cell phone began to chime. She pulled away from him, grabbing the jacket that she had left draped over the sofa and fishing the device out of its pocket. It was Nel. "Hello?" she answered tentatively, only to be greeted by a whining sob. "Nel? What's wrong?"

"_C-Can I come over?_" the French girl sniveled miserably.

Orihime ignored Ulquiorra making neck-slicing motions with his hand. "Sure. I'll leave the door unlocked for you." She ended the call and sighed. "I wonder what Grimmjow did now… oh." Upon lifting her head she found Ulquiorra glaring at her as if she had thrown all of his whites into the washing machine with one of her pink bras. "Go hide in your room or something!"

Letting out an irritated grunt, he followed her advice, though not before filling a plastic bag with ice for his 'head injury' to take with him. Abandoning the couch, Orihime went to unlock the apartment door. It wasn't two minutes later that Nel came in, slightly out of breath and in a mild state of hysteria – which led Orihime to believe that the French girl had grown accustomed to these episodes, and that in turn made her quite angry. Still dressed in her coat and scarf, droplets of water glittering in her green hair from where the snowflakes had landed and melted, Nel wiped at her eyes furiously as she strode right into the living room, pacing in front of Orihime. "I cannot believe him!" she yelled, bursting into tears all over again.

"What happened _this _time?" Orihime asked, rubbing her temples.

Nel sniffled indignantly. "Ze basketball game just ended, and you saw all ze people watching, _oui_?" In her rage, her accent was thicker than usual, having no time to pronounce every syllable carefully. "Well of course he flirts with random bimbos from neighborhood! Not I, who cheered for him in spirit, though I did not want to be biased!" She let out a series of whimpering sobs. "Zat infuriating bastard does not appreciate me at all!"

"You are absolutely right." Orihime nodded in agreement.

"How will I ever forgive him for zis?" Nel chewed her lower lip worriedly.

"Y-You don't!" Orihime cried, standing quickly. Now was her chance to get through to her! Grabbing Nel's shoulders, she turned her around and sat her down on the sofa, then crossed her arms like a teacher lecturing a student. "Nel, sweetie, I want you to relax and think for a moment, okay?" The green-haired girl nodded once. "You love Grimmjow, right?" She nodded again. "And he _claims_ that he loves you, but he's always cheating on… come to think of it, how many times _has _he cheated on you?"

"Twenty-six."

"Twenty - " Orihime stopped midsentence, her temples throbbing. Dear God! Twenty-six times? "Nel," she smiled at the sniffling wreck in front of her. "Nel, you're a smart girl. Let's use our brain. I know that you really care about him, and you've been nothing but loyal to him in the time that you've been dating because your feelings are genuine and pure and sweet." Nel nodded slowly. "But Grimmjow, he's been unfaithful to you, treats you wrong and he's promised to marry you but have you seen a ring yet?" Silence. The gears must have been turning now. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but… I don't think that a guy who can cheat on you so many times _truly _loves you, if he loves you at all."

There was a profound stillness in the apartment, which was broken a few seconds later by the front door opening. Grimmjow poked his head in, looking around. "Yo, Ulquiorra, have you seen Nel? She's not – oh." His blue-green eyes landed on the two women to his right. Orihime was about to tell him off, but before she could, Nel stood up from the couch and rubbed her tears away with the backs of her hands. Then she calmly walked over to where Grimmjow stood, reared back her hand and slapped him so hard that the sound of fingers against cheek rebounded off of the walls.

"I am leaving," she said quietly.

Orihime felt a little excited witnessing this moment of triumph. Oh, she couldn't wait to see the look on Grimmjow's face! He would probably start crying or something, begging Nel not to go, whining for chances that he had long-since run out of. But when he lifted his gaze to meet hers, Orihime was surprised by what she saw. No shock, no remorse; if anything, she would have called it resignation. "I see." He reached up and rubbed his offended skin. "I deserved that, and a lot more." He sighed. "But if this is what you want, then I won't stop you." Then he stood to the side as she brushed past him, making her way out of the apartment, the door slamming shut behind her.

"I lie down for five minutes and miss all of the excitement." Ulquiorra's voice, coming from directly over Orihime's shoulder, startled her. "Story of my life."

"You didn't want to get involved!" she snapped. But he ignored this and joined the morose Grimmjow by the door. Orihime watched as the two half-glared at each other, their postures tense, as if they would start swinging fists at any given moment. Then Ulquiorra spoke.

"Would you care to stay for dinner?"

"That would be nice, thank you," Grimmjow replied tonelessly. Then they shook hands, as if they had reached some sort of agreement, and Ulquiorra retreated, muttering under his breath about having a headache. Not knowing what the hell had just happened, and wondering why Grimmjow wasn't wallowing in complete and utter misery, Orihime had no choice but to follow Ulquiorra as he walked back towards his rom.

"Hey," she said, lowering her voice, "what was that?"

"While I know nothing of the size of reptilian brains, Ms. Inoue, you should know that there are some things in this building that are beyond your comprehension." He winced and held a hand to the side of his head. "Now then, I wouldn't recommend meddling in other peoples' business. You have unknowingly treaded on a field of landmines, and because I am responsible for your safety – according to Ms. Chizuru – I am glad that you have emerged unscathed. However, please contain your eagerness to get involved from now on. It will only lead to trouble, as you so beautifully demonstrated two weeks ago."

Orihime opened her mouth to retort – and ask when Chizuru had said such a thing to him – but the bedroom door closed in her face, nearly clipping her nose. "What about dinner?" she yelled.

The door opened again, and Ulquiorra gave her an annoyed look. "I assumed that you would be making it, as I am currently indisposed and _you _were the one who convinced Nel to dump him," he said before once again closing her out of the room. Orihime kicked the door once, then turned and trudged back down the hall. What was he talking about? And had she really been right about Grimmjow not loving Nel? She'd hoped for her friend's sake that this would just be a lesson to teach her insubordinate piece of man candy. But as she emerged into the living room, Grimmjow sat on the couch, looking a little sad but otherwise relieved. What in the world was going on?

"So," she said, crossing her arms. "Aren't you going to go stop your girlfriend from leaving?"

The Frenchman snorted. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you love her?"

"Exactly."

"What… that didn't make any sense!" Orihime cried, frustrated.

Grimmjow sneered. "You stupid girl. You don't know the first thing about my relationship with Nel." He said something under his breath in French. "But since you'll probably kick my ass if I don't at least _try_, I'll humor you." He stood up and dusted off his pants, squaring his shoulders for a fight. "Be right back," he grinned, his voice sugar-coated in sarcasm as he made his way towards the front door. "Though you're welcome to come watch to see if I 'do it right'."

Orihime placed her hands on her hips. "You know what? I think I will," she said, grabbing her key before taking off after him. Ulquiorra could take his advice and shove it. As for dinner, there were plenty of delivery places in the Hueco Mundo district. He would just have to settle for that.

Walking behind Grimmjow, she realized that this would be the first time she would witness one of his and Nel's infamous fights. Perhaps she should have brought some sort of armor to protect herself from flying pots and pans, but it was too late now. They descended the stairs to the sixth floor, and Grimmjow gave her a flat look as they approached his door, as if this whole ordeal were more trouble than it was worth. He knocked once. "Nel?" he called as he twisted the knob and went inside. "Yo, Nel!" Orihime stayed out in the hallway, not wanting to get caught in whatever skirmish was coming next. But when nothing happened for several long seconds, she ventured closer, and almost got run over by Grimmjow, who had bolted out of the apartment as if it was on fire.

"Whoa, what-!"

He stopped, swearing loudly and began to dig into his pocket for his phone. Orihime blinked. Whatever shred of tranquility he'd been holding onto was gone, replaced by a frenzied look as he rapidly punched in a number. She peered into the apartment. Everything seemed normal, save for a piece of paper on the floor with Nel's hasty scrawl on it. Orihime walked inside and stooped over to retrieve it, staring at the words. They were in French. All that she could decipher was the last word: _Adieu._

She glanced at Grimmjow, who was mashing the red button on his phone, only to redial the number and press it back against his ear. No answer. "Damn it!" he roared, going off in French and trying again.

"Grimmjow?"

"_What_?" he yelled, his eyes wild with animosity.

Orihime held the note up. "What does it say?"

There was a pause in which he listened to the phone ring once, twice, three times before going to voicemail. He ended the call and his arm fell to his side, his body visibly shaking with rage. "She's going back to France." His voice was eerily low. Then he turned such a venomous, hateful glare on Orihime that she recoiled, afraid that he would physically strike out against her. "I hope you're fucking happy, bitch," he spat before tearing off in the direction of the elevators.

Oh, there was no way that Ulquiorra would worm his way out of explaining this one.

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **With five chapters left of the story, this will be the last couple drama outside of UlquiHime! I hope you're looking forward to The Final Five as much as I am. And, as always, that adorable review button could use some clicking!


	26. You're The One That I Want

**Warnings: **Ugh, this chapter. It practically gave me diabetes just writing it. Lots of profanity being thrown around, though. And yes, the title is a Grease reference.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach or any other copyrighted material.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**You're the One That I Want**

Of course, Ulquiorra was mad at her. No Nelliel meant no Thanksgiving turkey, which Orihime was beginning to learn that Ulquiorra was more than a little fond of. Never mind the fact that his best friend was in such a state of distress that, after two days of searching, Grimmjow could do nothing but lay on the couch and wallow in despair. _No Thanksgiving turkey_. Ulquiorra may as well have thrown himself off of the roof of Las Noches.

But Orihime was stubborn and firm in her belief that Grimmjow deserved nothing less than losing Nel forever. However, that didn't even seem to be what was bothering him the most, and when she tried to ask he would roll over and turn his back to her, grumbling and telling her to go to hell. Needless to say, the Schiffer apartment was borderline insufferable. Between Ulquiorra and Grimmjow's death glares and moping, Orihime decided that she would rather chill at Rangiku's place. She could use a happy person to counteract all the negativity.

"Where are you going?" Ulquiorra asked her as she extracted her coat from the closet.

"Rangiku invited me over for supper. I'll be back later tonight," Orihime replied, not even bothering to look at him. "Besides, it's not like I'm wanted around here, anyway." In her refusal to turn her head, she completely missed the slightly pained expression that briefly flickered across his face before being smothered by his usual impassive mask. He watched her as she slipped on her jacket, snatched up her purse and left, the air in the apartment somehow feeling significantly more stagnant without her.

Grimmjow sat up on the sofa and looked back at him. "So, is there any particular reason why you haven't told her how much you pine for her at night?"

"I do no such thing," Ulquiorra replied swiftly, still staring at the door. "As for everything else… certainly, for the very same reason that you don't chase after Nelliel." He turned away, getting the creeping sensation that the day was soon coming when he would see Orihime walk out for the last time. "I don't deserve her."

…

Orihime was quite surprised that Rangiku hadn't immediately moved in with Gin, but as the older woman had explained, jumping blindly into a relationship with a man she hadn't spoken to in years, no matter how much she loved him, wouldn't have been the smartest thing to do. As Orihime understood it, the two were getting back into the swing of being friends first. From there they could appropriately act on any impulses that they may or may not still have.

She knocked on the door and patiently waited for it to open, wondering if she should stop by and see Chizuru on the way home. The last time she'd spoken to her, Chizuru had seemed genuinely happy that everything was going well, though she had threatened to kill Ulquiorra if he tried any funny business.

Oh, if only she knew.

The front door opened a fraction, a sliver of Rangiku's body – one eye, part of her nose and mouth, a bunch of hair, and a slice of her chest – appearing in the space. Orihime lifted her hand in a wave. "Hey. What was so urgent?" she asked, then cried out when the older woman reached forward, grabbed a fistful of her shirt, and yanked her inside. The door slammed shut behind Orihime. "What the hell…?" Her demand died on her lips when she saw who else was in the living room. "_Nel_?"

The French girl looked up, blinking. She was wearing a pair of Rangiku's pajamas, her green hair wet and wrapped up in a towel, a textbook thicker than the Bible sitting open on her lap. Rangiku jabbed a thumb in her direction. "Found her."

"Oh my God, Nel!" Orihime ran forward and took the girl's shoulders in her hands, shaking her. "Do you know how worried we've been? Holy crap! You were here this entire time?"

"N-No, I have not!" Nel replied, tearing away from her menacing grip. "Yesterday I stayed in building. Grimmjow always look everywhere before he begin to ask neighbors." She put a sticky note in the textbook to mark her page and closed it.

Orihime had a good million questions to ask, so she started with the one that came to mind first. "Who did you stay with?"

"Mr. Nnoitra. He saw me in stairs and offered to let me spend the night."

"Oh, no! You didn't _sleep _with that guy, did you?"

Nel blinked, confused. "No… Mr. Nnoitra has never even hit on me." She took up the towel and began dabbing at her hair. "Anyway, I stay with him, and then left and came to Ms. Matsumoto for help. I would have gone to you, Hime, but Ulquiorra would have ratted me out."

Orihime could definitely see that happening; the pianist and the Frenchman had some weird way of communicating without actually saying anything. It was a little disgusting. "But I thought you were going back to France," she said, noticing the other school things scattered around the living room.

"Oh, I am," Nel twisted the towel around her hair and sighed in dismay. "Perhaps over Thanksgiving I can go and beg my family to reconsider disowning me. Otherwise, I am out of place to live for the time being." She smiled. "At least Ms. Matsumoto is nice enough to take me in."

"Hey, don't sweat it, girly," Rangiku said with a grin, marching into the kitchen to check on dinner. "I love the company."

Orihime allowed her brain to process all of this incoming information, moving to sit on the sofa next to Nel. Okay, so she _wanted _to go home, but she couldn't because she and her family were at odds. She couldn't stay in Las Noches because Grimmjow would find her eventually, but she had spent the night with Nnoitra, who may or may not have been in love with her. Orihime felt a headache coming on. She could have texted Ulquiorra right now to tell him Nel's location. She could have prevented Nel from going back to France, but not only would that bring all of the drama on poor Rangiku's head, it would have given Grimmjow room to apologize, and there was no way in hell she was going to let him get away with that. The fact of the matter was that he had still broken Nel's heart. He'd run out of chances to repair things a long time ago.

Still, Orihime couldn't help but feel like there was a huge, missing piece to this jigsaw puzzle; probably Grimmjow's side of the story. There had to be a reason that he was fine with Nel leaving him, but went nuts when he read the letter she had written. Maybe he was just pretending to be alright with it. This whole thing could have been a game, just another down in the rollercoaster of their relationship, and he figured that she would return eventually.

Orihime frowned and crossed her arms. She didn't want Nel to go; who would she complain to when she'd had a bad day, or go to zumba with, or eat an entire pint of ice cream in front of without fear of being judged? Not Ulquiorra; he tended to blame her for whatever she was frustrated about, though more than half the time he was right in doing so; there was no way in hell he was stepping foot in Luppi's home; and last time she had devoured that much ice cream he had made some snide comment about the slight pudge visible over the rim of her jeans. This, of course, had started up her exercise regiment again, and the pudge was no longer there. Orihime lifted her shirt, smirking at her flat tummy. Ha! Now he would have nothing to criticize.

Either way, she had to find a way to keep Nel from leaving; one that _didn't _involve the bad-tempered man who had all but moved into Ulquiorra's apartment in the last two days – he had claimed that his place was full of too many memories or something like that. There was a week left until Thanksgiving as well, and she was sure that if Nel wasn't back to her turkey-making self by then, Ulquiorra would never speak to her again.

Not that she cared or anything.

…

By the time Orihime returned to Las Noches, Grimmjow had passed out on the couch with the TV on, leaving her without a bed. She sighed, irritated. If this was the way things were going to be, maybe he and Nel would have been better off together after all. She looked to Ulquiorra, who was seated at the dining table with his laptop. He was staring at the screen, but seemed to be dozing off, his eyes barely open. "Hey," her voice snapped him awake, "if you're tired, go to bed."

Ulquiorra lifted his hands to his face, yawning. "Can't," he said, leaning back in his chair, "I've just about completed this composition."

"It's all in your head, right? Just finish it tomorrow," Orihime spoke quietly so as not to wake Grimmjow, despite wanting her bed back, and walked over to the table, taking the open seat next to Ulquiorra. She watched him work for a while, putting notes and articulations into their places. It never ceased to amaze her, how fast he managed to put these things together. "Is this still _Substance_, or did you finish that one already?"

Ulquiorra's gaze shifted onto her. "You looked at them?" He didn't seem particularly angry, so she nodded her affirmation. "What did you think?"

"They're amazing," Orihime answered honestly. "Then again, it's you, so I wasn't expecting anything less." She threw in the compliment in the hopes that it would stroke his ego just enough for him to forgive her for breaking up Grimmjow and Nel. He shrugged, and she could have sworn that he looked mildly embarrassed, but that was probably just the light from the screen playing tricks with his features. Ah, there it was again; the stray observation that he was actually quite handsome for a scrawny guy. Her cheeks warmed up a bit as she forced herself to look away from him.

"Ms. Inoue," he said, breaking from his work to address her. He'd spent the entire evening taking unwarranted advice from Grimmjow, and to both of their surprise, had actually considered some of it. But as she lifted her gaze to meet his, a section of her thin hair falling over her face, which seemed to glow in the light coming from his laptop screen, everything he had been about to say was halted on his tongue. Besides, was this really the best time to talk about such embarrassing things? Grimmjow was technically in the room, whether asleep or not. "You didn't tell me you were thinking of taking online courses," he said finally, deciding to save the other conversation for a better time.

Orihime's eyes widened. "How did you…?"

"Internet browsers keep records of visited pages, you know."

Now she definitely felt the heat rising to her face. "I'm not, really," she said. The other day, while using his computer she had seen an ad for one of those online colleges and had ended up doing a full two hours of research on subjects and cost. She didn't even know what she wanted to study, but all the course names and summaries had sounded interesting. "I was just curious."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about." He saved his progress on the composition and pushed the laptop aside. "Wanting to pursue an education is a good thing."

"Exactly."

The two glanced in the direction of the living room, finding Grimmjow sitting upright on the couch. When he had woken up, they couldn't be sure, but he now stared off into space, running a hand through his short hair. "In this life, education is what separates the winners like Nel from the losers like me."

Orihime frowned. "What are you babbling about?"

Grimmjow thought for a moment, his brows furrowing in concentration. "You ever see the movie _Grease_?" he asked, wrinkling his nose as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Nel forced me to watch it with her, before you say anything. _I _had no choice." Ulquiorra snorted. "Shut up!"

"Did you have a point somewhere or were you just taking a general survey?" Orihime cut in before they could start arguing.

"Right." He scowled. "End of the movie comes around and the uptight virgin Sandy becomes this smokin' hot babe," he lifted his arms and made curving motions, "tight leather pants showing off that perky little white girl ass… uh…" his mouth stretched into a grin, "anyway, Sandy changes, and she and Danny Zuko live happily ever after. At least, _that's what they tell us_." Grimmjow's frown returned, deeper than before. "Do you honestly think that a smart girl like Sandy could ever be happy with a greaser like Danny for more than a month or two? That flying car lands right in his messy room, and after a night of crazed, passionate sex, Sandy wakes up in his apartment above the local garage and realizes that she's looking at the rest of her life, sans the dirty little runts that she'll probably shoot out of her vagina like a machine gun." He glared at the television as if it the people on the screen had offended him. "Poor Sandy, huh? I bet when she's elbow-deep in dish water at the local burger joint she'll think, _I gave up Harvard for this_? _Why, oh why did I ever let myself marry Danny Zuko_? _I could have done so much better with my life_."

Orihime looked at Ulquiorra. He shrugged, as if to say that this was the explanation that she had been waiting for.

"When I met Nel, that's exactly what she was doing. Seventeen, washing dishes in her family's run-down little store in France. The only thing she was looking forward to was inheriting that place and wasting the rest of her life. But she was _so fucking smart_. You have _no idea _how brilliant she is. And she wants to be a geneticist! A _geneticist_!" Grimmjow cried as if they hadn't heard him the first time. "She wants to find cures for all of these crazy mutations! She wants to win a _Nobel fucking Prize_! Sure, she may seem like a complete bubble-head sometimes, but she can do these complex math equations off the top of her head. And she's crafty too, like… fucking MacGyver's got nothing on her. She once broke into her house with a paperclip and some moss. I still can't wrap my brain around how she did it!" He swiped a hand over his face. "I just had to be the nice guy. She told me her troubles, and I told her I was going to America. I never wanted to be in a relationship with her, I just offered her a chance to _do _something with her life! I made it perfectly clear to her that I wasn't interested, but she fell in love with me anyway. Then I had to be stupid and fall for her because she was so damn cute and innocent and sweet and trusting. Son of a bitch, why _me_? I'm the biggest fucking idiot on the planet! I made it no secret that I slept around, that I was this horrible person but she found something to like about me anyway!" He buried his face in his hands. "And I _knew_ that she had no future with me, so I cheated on her. I treated her like utter shit. I tried my damndest to get her to wake up and smell the coffee and _leave_. And now that she finally has, she's going back to France? I don't want her to go home! I don't care if she never forgives me so long as she just stays in school and accomplishes her dream…"

Ulquiorra blinked slowly, having heard this all before, and focused on Orihime. He could practically see the wheels of her mind turning behind her ashy gray eyes. Hopefully this would teach her a lesson about meddling that she wouldn't soon forget.

"You're fucking stupid," she stated, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world. "Here you are, going on and on about how smart Nel is, but do you _really _think that? You must not." Ulquiorra tensed as Orihime stood from the table, ready to intervene in the event that fists started swinging. "Because if you know how smart she is, then you would have been able to guess that she probably knows everything you've just told us. Why else would a smart girl give you twenty-six chances, right?" She approached Grimmjow, her arms crossed. "I think you're the one who needs to wake up and smell the coffee, Frenchy. This whole time, Nel's been waiting for you to realize that it didn't mean shit to her that you think you don't deserve her. She _loves _you. Enough to sit there and take all the emotional abuse, enough to hang around until you get it through your thick skull that she isn't going to change her mind."

Grimmjow shook his head. "I can't take care of her. I'm a _mechanic_! I can hardly put my thoughts on paper, let alone carry on a conversation with her about anything she might find interesting!"

"Nel finds _puppies _and _food _interesting! You're treating her like she's some kind of alien just because she's smarter than you! Though, to be completely honest, I'm beginning to think that a toddler could be smarter than you!" Orihime cried. "Know what? You're right, you _don't _deserve her. I don't think you're right for at all, which is why I'm _not _going to tell you that she's staying at Rangiku's apartment, two blocks out of the Hueco Mundo district, past Urahara's Convenience Store, third floor, room 302!" She gave him a pointed look, then turned on her heel and walked briskly towards Ulquiorra's room. Well, she'd done her good deed for the day. Now she'd wake up the next morning and everything would be right with the world… maybe. In the mean time, since it was too late for Grimmjow to go knocking on anyone's door, she would commandeer the bed.

Back at the dining table, Ulquiorra smirked, bringing his laptop closer again. So she wasn't completely heartless, which was good. Still, those had been pretty big words coming from someone who claimed not to believe in love.

…

Orihime went to work as usual the next day, walking with a bit of a spring in her step. Grimmjow hadn't been in the apartment when she'd woken up, which had left poor Ulquiorra to take the sofa bed, and he'd made sure to complain about it thoroughly before he went out to teach. However, he must have forgiven her. For breakfast he'd spoiled her rotten with pancakes, toasted English muffins, _and _scrambled eggs, and when she'd asked him what the occasion was he'd merely shrugged and given her one of those, "don't ask, just take it" looks.

Rangiku was out and about that morning, making sure her customers were completely satisfied before she went to greet Orihime. "You're in a good mood," she observed.

"So are you," Orihime replied as she took up her place at the podium. "How's Nel doing?"

"Oh, she's as cheerful as someone in her position can be." Rangiku leaned over the bar, smiling at one of the customers sitting nearby. "Told me she had classes until later this afternoon. I offered to pick her up after work. You want to come?" She did a little dance in her place. "We were thinking of going out to party tonight, it being Friday and all that."

"I would, but I think my wife would be mad at me if I did. Promised her I'd kick the booze," Orihime commented dryly, imagining Ulquiorra's annoyance already. His mood always soured when she mentioned drinking. But now that she thought about it, she hadn't had a lick of alcohol since… wow, had it really been an entire month? She'd made major progress without even realizing it! The thought brought a smile to her face. She would have to find him a decent gift for his birthday to thank him.

It was a slow day, probably because a lot of the childless households were leaving the city ahead of time to visit family for Thanksgiving. Orihime had always wanted to sit in the airport on those three hectic days before the holiday, just to see how congested it would be. Hopefully there wouldn't be any crazy snowstorms; she'd hate to think of the thousands of people sleeping on the airport floor, waiting for the weather to clear so that they could get to where they needed to go. But for once she would be too busy to do that. Ulquiorra was becoming increasingly sensitive to stress as the day drew closer. He hadn't said or done anything, but she could tell simply by the way he carried himself – which was creepy. She'd been around him _way_ too long.

As the hours dragged on, Orihime found herself gripped with anxiety. Sure she'd given Grimmjow that grandiose lecture the day before, but it was up to him to go fix things with Nel, and she couldn't imagine how he would manage to convince her to come back to his side. Hopefully she wasn't angrier than she had let on during dinner.

Her only distraction came in the form of Momo, who came in once school had let out for the day. She looked much better than she had immediately following the Halloween incident, a healthy color having returned to her skin, and she seemed a bit more animated. Apparently she had been asked to testify against Aizen and, after some positive self-talk, had agreed to do so. "There's no way I'm letting that man get to anybody else," she said sternly, "I want him put away until he's too old to wipe his own butt."

Orihime frowned a bit. She hadn't said _until he died_, but it was to be expected. The poor girl had been so deeply in love with him. "You and Toshiro are hanging out more often, right?"

"Well, sure. We used to hang out a lot before I started dating that _man_." She made a face. "And now that I'm single I have a lot more free time. He really likes the winter, so we're going ice skating at the Karakura Town rink on the first."

"Really? Gin and I were thinking of going." Rangiku turned to Orihime. "Isn't the first Batman's birthday? Bring him, too!"

"He can't skate," Orihime answered dismally, "though maybe if we can convince everyone to go, he'll come along. Unwillingly, of course, but I doubt he wants to spend his twenty-fourth birthday alone." She grinned. "We can go at night, when they switch on all those pretty lights that they put on every tree in the vicinity."

"That sounds so romantic!" Momo cooed, her face flushing. "For you and Ulquiorra, I mean."

Orihime's eyebrow arched. "Since when have Ulquiorra and I been synonymous with romance?"

Rangiku and Momo looked at each other, then shook their heads sadly and departed to do their jobs. "She's a slow one," Orihime heard Rangiku mutter under her breath. What the hell! Had they been pairing her with Ulquiorra behind her back? Those traitors! There was absolutely nothing going on between them! He'd just kissed her twice… oh, and the refrigerator thing, which she still couldn't think about without getting a little lightheaded. But that was a product of lust; a man and a woman living in close proximity were bound to consider jumping each others' bones eventually. It was completely normal! There was no relationship, no acknowledgement of feelings, and no feelings to even speak of.

She just thought he was good-looking from time to time. And he had his sweet moments, which always caught her by surprise. _And_ she was more comfortable around him than most other guys. She could trust him not to take advantage of her, even though he was clearly a sadist. She thought he was ridiculously talented, but plenty of other people were. And then there was the fact that he'd saved her from both a messy suicide and a messy homicide…

A menu hit her in the back of the head. She turned and found Rangiku grinning at her. She motioned towards her office. "Time to go!"

Upon leaving, they drove out of the Hueco Mundo district, coming to the university in the heart of the downtown area. Nel was waiting for them by one of the libraries, looking a little down. But she cheered the instant she saw them and ran over, climbing into the backseat of Rangiku's car. "So, I was searching for plane tickets on my computer between classes. Roundtrips are all so expensive!"

"What did you expect? You're flying to a foreign country," Orihime said casually, trying not to spill the beans about Grimmjow and his idiotic reasoning.

Nel sighed. "I had no idea. Grimmjow bought my plane ticket when we came to America." She stared out the window sadly, her temple resting against the cold glass as they made their way off of the campus. "I guess I am not as independent as I thought."

"Hey, if you need a job, I could always use another waitress," Rangiku offered helpfully.

"I will think about it. My major is very demanding, so I don't know if I _could _work." Nel pursed her lips. "Maybe I could find job as teacher's assistant? There are plenty of openings in the university," she trailed off, her green eyes pinched with concern. Orihime glanced at her through the side-mirror. Damn it, she wanted to say something so bad! But so far her meddling had done nothing but make things worse, so she kept her mouth shut.

As they neared Rangiku's building, Nel suddenly sat upright. "What is he doing here?"

"Who?" Orihime looked ahead. Parked on the curb in front of the complex was Grimmjow's beat up old pickup truck, which was probably the only vehicle in Las Noches that was in worse shape than Ulquiorra's. They even had that in common, those freaks. But Orihime contained her smile when she saw that the blue-haired Frenchman was sitting in the bed of the truck, looking quite disgruntled. Had he been waiting there all afternoon?

"Did you tell him where I was?" Nel demanded, her voice high and squeaky. "Tell him to go away! I don't want to talk to him!"

Orihime turned in her seat to look at her. "Calm down. Maybe he has something important to say?"

"No." Nel sunk lower. "I don't want to see him. Send him away."

Rangiku parked the car and glanced at Orihime. _Guess we're going to have to do this the hard way_, her narrowed eyes seemed to say. "I'll talk to him, girly," she promised, then stepped out onto the street. Orihime did the same, but she stood by Nel's door as Rangiku approached the shivering Grimmjow, placed her hands on her hips to appear angry, then winked at him and said, "She's all yours." He looked at Orihime, who inclined her head in a subtle nod, and took that as what little approval he would get. Climbing out of the truck, Rangiku made sure to stalk after him, dramatically threatening to call the police if he didn't leave them alone. Orihime hid her amused smile and clasped the door handle, pulling it open as she stepped away.

Nel's head whipped up in surprise. "What-!"

"Nel," Grimmjow had to stoop over to get a better look at her, especially when she whipped off her seatbelt and scrambled to the other end of the backseat. She glared fiercely at Orihime, who merely shrugged and mouthed 'sorry' before going to join Rangiku nearby.

"I have nothing to say to you," Nel told Grimmjow sternly.

He sighed and, mindful of the two standing behind him, began speaking in hushed French. Judging by the guarded expression on Nel's face, this was his attempt at an apology. The girl stared at him, then snapped, spouting what Orihime could only assume were hateful words before bursting into tears. He flinched, reaching out for her, but she slapped his hand away and resumed her violent rant, making very sharp hand gestures. Then Grimmjow started yelling back at her, causing her to recoil in shock. He broke off, sighed, then reached into his pocket and held something out to her that Orihime and Rangiku couldn't see. Whatever it was only made Nel cry even harder, clasping a hand over her mouth. But through the car's windshield they saw her nod several times, and Grimmjow sighed with relief before he was tackled onto the pavement and covered in very enthusiastic kisses.

"Oh my!" Rangiku laughed and looked away politely.

But Orihime's attention was drawn to what had fallen out of Grimmjow's hand, landing a foot or so away from where he had been pinned to the cold sidewalk by his green-haired lover: a small velvet box containing a diamond ring that had probably cost him a fortune. A broad smile stretched across her face.

"Looks like he finally got it right," she said, slinging an arm around Rangiku's shoulder. "Come on. Let's leave them to their, uh, privacy."

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Didn't that just give you a horde of warm and fuzzy feelings?

**FAQs**

**Why did you write Orihime this way? **Let's take a look at the past of canon Orihime: She was raised in an abusive home with a prostitute mother and a bastard father. When I was doing research for Oz, I came upon this information and _bam_. My psychology major began to nag me. Because, when we see things like this happen in real life, a person can go one of many ways once they are out of the abusive situation: they can recover and live happy lives, like bubbly canon Orihime; or they can _fall into a cycle_ that would take a healthy amount of therapy and years of stability to get out of. For example, a boy who witnessed his father abuse his mother could either swear to _never _do that to his wife and stick with it, or he could fall into the cycle of abusing his girlfriends/wife in the future. So, in a nutshell, _Muse is one huge what-if situation_. _What if_ Orihime hadn't been able to get out of that home? _What if_ Orihime hadn't been able to recover from the trauma? But wait! We do see some canon Orihime in here. Remember the Orihime that _slapped Ulquiorra across the face_? Kubo has shown us that she has the potential to be someone who doesn't take shit from anyone, no matter how strong they are, and I LOVE that Orihime. This is who she is in Muse.

**Why did you write Ulquiorra this way? **Well, simple answer is simple: he's human. Canon Ulquiorra had a bit of a selfish streak before he died, doing everything he could to keep Orihime in Las Noches despite the fact that Aizen _clearly stated _that he no longer needed her. What, then, were his motives? To keep her as his caged bird so that she could croon her pretty words to him all day? I'd like to think so. What were Muse Ulquiorra's motives for keeping Orihime in Las Noches? He may have lost his original purpose, but that is still something that Orihime does not know. Remember, he is only letting her go along with her assumptions about his personality. We'll see more of smart, canon Ulquiorra before the story ends.

**Does the GrimmNel drama have anything to do with Nel's masochism? **Why yes, indeed it does! I saw that in the manga, laughed hysterically and thought, "Ah, it's perfect!" But, as you saw in this chapter, that masochism isn't everything. :3

Next on The Final Five: It's Thanksgiving day, and the ensuing chaos couldn't possibly be good for Ulquiorra's fragile psyche.


	27. Where the Heart Is

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach or any of its characters, or anything else I might mention in this fic.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Where the Heart Is**

Orihime Inoue navigated the streets of the city with a spring in her step, a song in her heart, and two plain white boxes full of Kisuke Urahara's pumpkin pie, fresh out of the oven. She'd thanked him with a ten-dollar tip and a kiss on the cheek, which he'd claimed was more than enough to get his fantasies going. But she knew that Urahara was a good man – with a girlfriend – and that he'd done her the favor out of his own kindness. She was the number one fan of his desserts, after all.

It was the morning of Thanksgiving, and with the Haineko Diner closed for the day, Rangiku had promised to come by and help with the preparations for the dinner. Nel had been working on the turkey since the day before, insisting that it needed a decent amount of time for all the seasoning to sink in before it went into the oven, which didn't stop Ulquiorra from questioning its progress as an "afterthought" every time he saw her. Orihime smiled, clutching the pie boxes tighter to her chest. Hopefully the guests would enjoy it as much as she did.

When it came to having a large amount of people in the apartment, she was beginning to learn that Ulquiorra was something of a nervous wreck. Outwardly, he was fine, but she'd learned to set apart his good moods from his bad ones, his relaxed mode from his high-strung mode, and his decent days from his Paco days; a talent she'd never wanted, but had honed nonetheless. This morning he had been up early, taking out and re-shelving his DVDs in the order of the year they were released. It was the only anxious tick she'd allowed him to express before throwing her slippers at him because he'd woken her up with the noise.

And so, Orihime had spent the rest of the morning watching the Thanksgiving Day parade, cringing at the pop star performances and watching the Broadway shows and marching bands in awe. She'd always wanted to go to the parade; it was one of those lifelong dreams that she knew would probably never come to fruition. People booked their hotels an entire year in advance for that thing, and the room prices were probably jacked up to high heaven. She sighed, blowing out her bangs. Ulquiorra was rich; maybe she could ask him to take her.

She tried to picture them at the parade together: she'd be bouncing in joy as the Radio City Rockettes came to do their flawless high kicks, and Ulquiorra would probably be attempting to compose something on the piano application she'd seen on his phone when she'd stolen it from him the other day. The mental image made her mood sour. Well, she could lead the horse to water…

Ulquiorra had politely waited until the end of the parade to nag her about being productive, and so she'd gotten dressed and headed out to Urahara's Convenience Store just as Grimmjow and Nel had arrived with the fully marinated turkey to throw into the oven. The bird was enormous, of course; they'd had to find one big enough to feed everyone who would be in attendance: Gin and Rangiku, Starrk and Tia and Lilynette, Nnoitra and Szayel, Yammy and Luppi and the puppy. Even Old Man Luisenbarn had promised to come. Orihime had expected them all to be going home for the holiday, but the majority of them were either at odds with their families, or negotiated with siblings as to who would go where for which year.

She was kind of glad, though. As much as she'd insisted to Ulquiorra that she didn't need it, she had to admit that she was excited for today. Her first real Thanksgiving! It was going to be perfect, she decided with a nod and smile. She just had to get back to Las Noches with the pies in one piece.

…

Ulquiorra's apartment was a bit chaotic at the moment, which did nothing for his nerves. He watched as Nel and Szayel ran about in the kitchen, throwing together a plethora of Thanksgiving delicacies with the ease of professional chefs. Grimmjow and Nnoitra were arguing over where to move the couch so that the TV would still be visible, but enough room would be leftover for the extra table they had brought in to accommodate everyone. They also argued over the positioning of the second table; if they put it up against the side of the first, Grimmjow said, the arrangement would be unfortunately phallic shaped. Nnoitra insisted that they turn the first table so that such a thing wouldn't happen, but then they would have to change the living room as well. They asked Ulquiorra if they could move the piano, and he promised to kill them both if they laid a hand on it.

Well, he supposed he was being unreasonable, but it was his house.

The front door, left unlocked, flew open and in walked Lilynette carrying a folded plastic tablecloth. Starrk and Tia were right behind her, each carrying a plastic tub full of freshly baked cornbread. "Ah, good," Ulquiorra pointed the couple in the direction of the kitchen. "Take those over there. Nelliel and Szayel have taken charge of the food." He looked down at Lilynette. "And you," He glanced up at Grimmjow and Nnoitra, who were still bickering over the furniture arrangement. "Wait for those two to work it out."

Lilynette arched an eyebrow. "Why don't they just connect the other table to the end of the first at a right angle?"

"Because then someone will have to sit at the corner!" Nnoitra and Grimmjow both yelled, then continued their argument. Ulquiorra sighed, wanting to lie down, but he knew that the moment he left them unsupervised there was bound to be some sort of catastrophe. Maybe when Ms. Inoue returned. He checked the time on his cell phone, wondering where she could be. She had left a good two hours ago. Hopefully she wasn't doing that pie man any unsavory favors in exchange for his labor.

Then, as if his discomfort had conjured her up, Orihime walked in carrying two carefully balanced white boxes, and she sighed with relief. "Got them here safely! What's going on?" she asked cautiously, noticing that Grimmjow and Nnoitra were at each others' throats and nothing seemed prepared.

"We're a little behind schedule," Ulquiorra said as Lilynette ran off to join the table debate. He walked over and took one of the boxes out of her arms. "Smells good."

"You mean _heavenly_," Orihime supplied as they walked into the kitchen, which seemed just as hectic as the living room. Nel was stacking the cornbread into a series of nice little pyramids while Szayel fussed over the candied yams. When he saw Orihime, he waved her over for a taste test.

"Tell me what you think. I'm worried that I might have overdone it on something, but I can't quite place my finger on it." He hovered anxiously as she lifted a sample to her mouth. "Good?"

Orihime nodded and grinned. "Best candied yams I've ever had!" she said, and tried to take more but he slapped her hand away.

"Not until dinner, Hime. We don't want you spoiling your appetite."

Right. She'd forgotten that she was the star of the show, the person that everyone was going through all of this for. So it didn't surprise her when she was also made to taste test the cornbread, the mashed potatoes, and steamed vegetables that were being prepared. Once she'd approved of everything, she was politely kicked out of the kitchen.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked Ulquiorra, feeling the need to help somehow.

"Hmm…" He considered this, looking around the apartment. "Go sit on the couch and watch the Home Shopping Network until you find something that I might possibly enjoy in terms of birthday presents." Orihime stared at him flatly as Grimmjow and Nnoitra, having finally reached some kind of agreement with Lilynette's input, started pushing the two tables together. Ulquiorra stared back at her, his expression dead serious and showing no signs of wavering, leaving her with no choice but to sigh and turn away.

"Fine. But don't complain if I sign you up for the Fruit of the Month Club," Orihime said as she crossed the room. At least Lilynette was there. Perhaps they could find one of those claymation Christmas movies to watch.

"Hey Ulquiorra," Grimmjow yelled as he positioned the extra chairs around the table, "you're always playing depressing crap on that piano of yours. Why don't you try out something festive and cheerful?"

Ulquiorra narrowed his eyes at him. "Is that a challenge?" he said, already cracking his knuckles as he headed over to the piano. Orihime sat down on the couch next to Lilynette, who had been watching the football game with obvious enthusiasm. She noticed that Ulquiorra had yet to put up a Christmas tree, nor had she seen one anywhere in the apartment. Then again, she still hadn't investigated every nook and cranny of the place, like his closet. There were tons of boxes in there, some that could possibly house a tree and some ornaments. She wondered when he usually began to decorate. Maybe he was one of those depressing people who waited until two days before the holiday to put up the tree and lights, then took them down right after.

Just as she was about to get up and look for the hostage tree, Ulquiorra struck up an obnoxiously cheerful, jazzy sort of song that she'd thought him incapable of playing. It didn't help that he wore a completely straight face while his fingers danced over the keys, filling the room with the fast and upbeat melody. Was there anything he _couldn't _do?

As if he'd read her mind, Grimmjow called out, "Fine, I dare you to play…" he trailed off, looking to Nnoitra for assistance.

"A rock song," the lanky man suggested, "something with an impossible guitar solo."

"_Get Ready 2 Rokk_ by Freezepop," Grimmjow commented offhandedly. Ulquiorra stopped playing the happy tune, sent them both a bored expression, then launched into a piano rendition of the rock song. Both Orihime and Lilynette looked away from the television, the challenge finally catching their attention. Maintaining that completely unbothered appearance, he hammered out every chord, not missing a single note, occasionally swinging his right hand over his left to catch the lower notes before charging through the higher guitar parts. Grimmjow snorted. "Smug bastard."

Nnoitra nudged him in the ribs. "He'll never make it past the solo," he insisted. Orihime looked at the two, amazed that they could get along so well. Weren't they both technically in competition for Nel? Not that it mattered, now that she and Grimmjow were engaged. But Orihime had honestly been expecting more hostility between the competing parties. Yet there they were, both equally slack-jawed as Ulquiorra effortlessly went through the guitar solo on the piano as if he was playing Old McDonald Had a Farm. "What the hell! He can't play Rock Band to save his life!" Nnoitra complained, which was true; whenever they convinced Ulquiorra to join them, he could hardly make it through a song on easy mode.

The spectacle had stopped all the activity in the room, so nobody noticed the fact that the TV had gone out until the song was over. Orihime turned back to change the channel and saw that the screen was black. Weird, she hadn't switched it off. She picked up the remote and tried to bring it to life, but nothing changed. "Ulquiorra," she said, pointing to it, "the TV's dead."

The speed at which he got up and ran across the room to check the lights could have broken a high school track record. He flipped the light switch by the front door upwards. The electricity was on, which was good. That meant that the turkey and the food would be alright. Satisfied, Ulquiorra walked calmly over and took the remote from Orihime, trying the power button. Nothing happened. He hit it against his palm twice, then tried again. Still nothing. "Hmm." He dropped the remote into her lap and crossed the living room, moving the TV aside to check the wires in the back. It was still plugged in, and nothing appeared to be broken. He whacked it for good measure. "So it is," he said finally, staring at the black screen. "Though I've only had it for a year and a half."

"There's no way that thing can be dead!" Grimmjow came over to get a look at it himself, scrutinizing the wiring. "It was top of the line when you bought it!"

"Well, you know how technology is," Tia spoke from the kitchen. "Obsolete the moment it hits shelves."

Ulquiorra spent a moment contemplating the broken television before looking at Orihime over his shoulder. "This is a good thing, Ms. Inoue."

She blinked slowly. "How is it a good thing that the TV is broken?"

"Because tomorrow is Black Friday," he answered, "meaning that we can find one to replace this at almost half its usual price."

Orihime's eyes narrowed. "I am _not _waking up at three in the morning to go hunting down a new TV." She had never participated in Black Friday shopping, but she'd heard all sorts of horror stories about the early morning sales. For example, people in different cities getting trampled by hoards of parents looking to buy their child the Hit Toy of the Season for a hundred dollars off its retail price, or some other ridiculous deal. And besides, it would be freezing cold outside!

"That's a shame," Ulquiorra said in a bored tone, "I thought that the fact that I'm letting you have your say in what kind of television I get – because you _do _live here, too – would make you happy," he shrugged. "I suppose I'll have to go alone." Not that he planned to. He was already thinking of ways to mummify her with her own sheets and drag her along the ground until she was willing to walk.

The front door opened, then, and in walked Yammy with his squirming puppy in arm and a tray in his massive hand. "What did I miss?" he asked, noticing that everyone, while engaged in cooking and other activities, had an eye on the exchange between Orihime and Ulquiorra. Letting the puppy down, he went to the kitchen to deliver his addition to the dinner.

Ulquiorra eyed the dog apprehensively as it came over, tail wagging at a mile a minute, to bark for Orihime's attention. She picked it up off of the carpet. "I'm still not going," she said somewhat stubbornly, though his blatant consideration for her opinion really _had _made her happy. Just then, Nel let out a high pitched squeal that made the puppy yip excitedly, and all the attention went into the kitchen. "What happened?" Orihime asked from the living room as both Nel and Szayel ran towards the sink.

"Nothing! Carry on!" the doctor said with a nervous smile.

Sensing an impending disaster, Ulquiorra walked into the kitchen to see what was going on. Apparently they had left the sink going, completely unaware of the fact that it was stopped up, which caused a bit of a flood on the counter. He looked around to survey the damage, at first seeing none, but then he noticed the water heading straight for the pumpkin pies. Pushing Starrk out of the way, he ran and snatched the boxes off of the counter just in time; only one of the corners got a little damp. He sighed and placed them on the opposite side of the kitchen, looking around for a napkin to dry it with. There were none visible. He frowned and began pulling open drawers and cabinets, finally checking the pantry. "There are no napkins," he stated.

"Will a paper towel do?" Nel asked, holding the roll out to him. They had used up a significant amount of them trying to dry the sink, so when Ulquiorra took one for the box, he found himself staring at the empty brown tube.

"And now there are no paper towels." He shoved the empty roll at the hapless Starrk. "Get more."

"A-All the stores are closed, man," Starrk replied. Ulquiorra narrowed his eyes at him, not keen to the thought of there being nothing to clean the army of greasy hands that would be touching things in his apartment. But just then the front door opened, Gin and Rangiku walking in dressed in heavy coats and scarves, and in their arms they carried a stack of napkin packages.

"Courtesy of the Haineko Diner!" Rangiku announced cheerfully as she handed them off to Orihime, who still held the wriggling puppy in her arms. "We weren't sure if you would have enough."

"I'm pretty sure that you just saved Ulquiorra from having a stroke," Orihime replied with a smile. Gin, now completely recovered from the gunshot wound in his chest, went into the kitchen to deliver their second contribution: corn on the cob.

"Where do you want these?" he asked Ulquiorra, who was staring questioningly at the tray that Yammy had brought in. Gin blinked and stared at it too. Whatever it was, it certainly didn't look like it belonged in a Thanksgiving dinner. "Uh…"

Yammy hovered nearby. "Spam musubi," he explained proudly, "a traditional snack where I come from! It's rice and spam wrapped in seaweed." Right, they had forgotten that the big man had moved to the city from Hawaii.

"It, uh, looks delicious?" Gin tried as Nel swept by like a hurricane and took the corn on the cob from him. Szayel was still working to dry the counters – though by then the mess was manageable enough to tame with a dish rag – and so neither of them noticed that they hadn't checked the vegetables in a while until, from the living room, Lilynette scrunched up her nose and asked:

"What's that smell?"

The apartment fell silent. Szayel and Nel immediately dropped what they were doing and ran to salvage the vegetables, but when they lifted the lid of the pot, it was too late. The pungent odor caused them both to recoil, gagging, and pretty soon everyone was sharing their sentiments. "I'll open a window!" Nnoitra offered helpfully, walking around the conjoined dining tables to get to it. Thankfully there was nothing at the table yet; the blast of cold air that came through from the opening was enough to send Orihime scrambling to put on a jacket. She would hate to see the food get frosted before anyone could eat it.

The ruined vegetables had to be disposed of, but Ulquiorra remained undaunted. He kicked everyone except for Nel and Szayel out of the kitchen and cleared enough space to work on a salad large enough to feed the entire group. Half an hour later, Szayel excused himself to go pick up Mr. Luisenbarn, and the chaos died down as everyone congregated in the living room, pondering what had happened to the television.

Orihime decided to use Ulquiorra's distraction to sneak down the hall and infiltrate his bedroom in search of a Christmas tree. Thankfully, the furniture hadn't been rearranged in a while, so she had no trouble navigating the place. She walked to the closet, throwing the door open and switching on a light. Rows of clothing, a shoe rack, and boxes _everywhere_. She crouched down and peered into one of the clear containers. Photo albums, important-looking documents with the seal of his father's record company on them – she'd learned to identify it while in Washington – and what appeared to be more file folders. How many students did he _have_? She crawled along the floor to the next box, which was filled with what looked like a bunch of plastic bags. "What the…?"

"Looking for something?"

Orihime flinched in surprise and raised her head with a guilty smile. Ulquiorra stood in the closet doorway, hands in his pockets, staring down at her. "Your Christmas tree…?" she tried, hoping that he wouldn't be too angry at her – not that she'd done any snooping in a while, and she hadn't been caught the previous times. Ulquiorra pointed behind her and she turned, finding a large box with a picture of a beautifully decorated tree on the side. "Oh," she blinked. "Then what's in this one?"

"Ornaments," he said simply, his gaze still on her. "You could have asked if you were curious. I thought we were past all this."

Orihime chewed her bottom lip, feeling a little ashamed of herself, but not overly so. Snooping was undeniably fun. She stood up and straightened her clothing, taking his words into consideration. "Right." They were past all that. So where were they, exactly? It was a question that she had been thinking of since… well, for a while. She didn't want to, but she would often wake up in the middle of the night, her mind racing as it struggled to find an answer that she couldn't come to on her own. And it was terrifying to think that, if she wanted the blanks filled in, she would have to ask him directly.

Were they friends? Yes. Did she want his body? Possibly. Did he want hers? Maybe. Could they jump into bed right then, forgetting dinner and everybody outside, to explore the extent of those lust-filled urges? It sounded like fun to her.

But if that were the case, why hadn't she done it yet? What was stopping her from crossing that line, from changing everything between them? She'd had so many chances. Hell, there had been a thunderstorm recently; she could have snuck into his bed under the pretense that she was scared and proceeded to seduce him right out of his clothes. It would have been so easy, she thought as she walked towards him. She had all the experience tucked under her belt, ready to be used. A sultry look, a swing of her hips, an innocent question, and a moment of physical contact. So simple, and yet…

"Hime, where'd you go?" Rangiku's voice called from down the hall. "Get out here, girly! We need your help!"

Orihime lowered her gaze as she brushed past Ulquiorra, her shoulder bumping against his as she went, but to her surprise she met with resistance. They both stood silently in the door frame, arm to arm, not looking at each other. "Hime!" It was Nel's voice this time, and Orihime knew that now was not the right time for anything.

"Coming!" she yelled, but still hesitated. "When are we putting up the tree?" she asked Ulquiorra.

"The first," he answered. She nodded and pulled away from him, leaving the room. The first of December was his birthday, and she still hadn't gotten him anything. Perhaps she could use Christmas as an excuse to procrastinate on buying him a gift. And in the mean time, she would shove all of these strange thoughts about him far into the back of her mind. Just because she hadn't made a move on him didn't mean that she wasn't going to. After all, she still had to get him back for the refrigerator incident, and to prove once and for all that he wasn't immune to her charm.

…

When it came time to set the table, almost everything was perfect. The turkey was about to be taken out of the oven, the rest of the food arranged and ready, and everyone was certainly hungry enough to devour the enormous dinner. Between Orihime, Rangiku and Tia – with help from Grimmjow, Starrk and Gin – the plates and glasses were laid out in front of every chair.

Ulquiorra supervised the entire affair, relieved that all of his careful planning had gone swimmingly for once. Ever since Orihime had come to live with him, she'd somehow ended up throwing a wrench into his clockwork, so he'd come to expect things to go awry at the worst possible times. But today was a good day. It was Thanksgiving, he had an excuse to buy a new television, everyone was together and happy and the smell of the turkey was already making his mouth water.

"Do we really have to go around saying what we're thankful for?" Grimmjow complained as he came out of the kitchen with the tray of cornbread.

"Yes," Ulquiorra answered, "and watch how you're carrying that thing," he said as one of the slices rolled off of the tray and fell onto floor. Yammy's puppy, having been standing around the kitchen looking cute in the hopes that it would get a scrap of food or two, barked happily and ran over to the fallen bread. Ulquiorra sighed. At least he wouldn't have to clean it himself.

Nel came out of the kitchen with the turkey, then, seemingly unbothered by the weight of the enormous bird. "Who is going to carve this thing?" she asked, unaware of the puppy until she was about to step on it. Gasping in surprise, she withdrew the foot that was ready to land on the adorable creature's head, but lost her balance. It took only one jerk of her arms to send the Thanksgiving turkey flying into the air.

Ulquiorra's eyes widened. "Someone catch it!" he yelled, sending half of the congregation running. Gin reached for it, but misjudged the distance and ended up crashing into Szayel. The puppy began barking at the commotion. Grimmjow dove across the table, sending plates and glasses everywhere and the tablecloth askew as he reached out his hand to stop the turkey, but the bird bounced off of his palm and rolled, to everyone's horror, right out of the open window. Mr. Luisenbarn, a bit senile and unaware of what was going on, sipped his wine peacefully while everybody else ran to see the fate of the turkey.

Ulquiorra pulled Grimmjow aside, sticking his head out into the cold afternoon. He watched as the bird tumbled through the air, plummeting towards the sidewalk below, and half-prayed that it would nail someone so that it would still be partially edible. But the streets were empty, and two seconds later the turkey hit the pavement with a barely audible _smack_, exploding into a million chunks of meat and guts and bone.

The room was silent. Even Yammy's puppy had stopped barking, sensing the tension in the air. Orihime's hands had flown up to cover her mouth, her eyes wide. Nel clutched the tray to her chest, looking disappointed, but more worried than anything else. Grimmjow was backing away from Ulquiorra and wordlessly warning everyone to do the same. It had been a while since he'd seen his best friend lose his temper – Aizen's broken nose, the sprained wrist that had resulted from hitting a wall, the day they had spied on Orihime at the café – and he knew that it could get pretty ugly.

But Ulquiorra said nothing. He pulled his head back into the apartment and closed the window, shutting out the noise from the outside world, and the stillness in the living room intensified as he turned away, leisurely walking down the hallway. A few seconds later, they heard a door slam shut. Then Luppi went to comfort Nel about the ruined turkey while everyone else looked between each other. "So," Nnoitra said, "who's going to calm him down?"

Immediately the majority of the group scattered, leaving Grimmjow and Orihime standing together. They glanced at each other, then held up their hands for a game of rock-paper-scissors, swinging their fists twice before Grimmjow chose rock and Orihime selected paper. "Damn it!" he muttered, skulking off down the hall. "Ulquiorra?" _Knock, knock_. "Buddy?"

Orihime sighed and turned to the rest of the party. "Okay," she said, "let's not panic." She looked at Nel. "You okay?"

Nel shrugged. "More or less. It is not end of world." She managed a weak smile as Szayel went and pat her on the shoulder. Orihime nodded and went into the kitchen to survey what they had. Yams, corn on the cob, salad, that weird stuff that Yammy had brought in, mashed potatoes and most of the cornbread – Grimmjow had destroyed some of it in his attempt to save the turkey. There were also the pumpkin pies, which had been placed somewhere safe after the counter flooded. All that was missing was the bird… and the host, who was no doubt having a mental breakdown at the moment.

There was a knock at the front door, which Orihime ignored as she tried to figure out where they could possibly get something to replace the turkey. She knew of a few Chinese restaurants that were open no matter what day it was. Maybe some kind of chicken? She'd have to ask everyone what they wanted.

Ugh. She sighed and buried her face in her hands, hoping for a miracle. It would certainly take one to get Ulquiorra to come out of whatever room he'd disappeared into.

…

Twenty minutes later, Grimmjow emerged from the hallway, having had no luck in persuading Ulquiorra to return to the party. Orihime held up her hand. "Tag me?" she asked, and he slapped his palm against hers.

"Good luck," he grumbled as she passed him. The hallway was dark, the bedroom door open and the one to the bathroom shut. So that's where he was hiding, huh? Orihime rolled her eyes and knocked on the door twice.

"Ulquiorra, let me in." Silence. What if he'd killed himself? "Come on, it's an emergency. I have to go." No reply. She heaved a sigh. "Look, I got an ax from the basement, and if you don't open this door right now, so help me God I will – " the lock clicked. Figures. Grabbing the doorknob, she twisted it and stepped into the lit space, closing the door behind her. Ulquiorra sat on the counter next to the sink, staring at her tiredly. "What's up?" she asked casually, if only to get him talking. His eyes narrowed, but then he seemed to think twice about snapping at her, rubbing his temples instead.

"This," he said, "is why I don't ever do nice things." His voice was low, resigned. "Every time I try, the universe comes about to remind me that I am a bad person, and therefore, every attempt I make at kindness will be thwarted to put me in my place."

Orihime crossed her arms, resting her back against the door. "Okay… you know, we could always have Thanksgiving without the turkey," she tried.

Ulquiorra stared at her blankly. "Were you raised in a cave, Ms. Inoue?"

"Argh! Just come outside!" She reached forward and grabbed his wrist, yanking him off of the counter. "Geez, almost twenty-four and you're acting like a five year old, I swear!" Throwing the door open, she dragged him down the hallway and into the living room, pointing to the table. "Look."

There was another turkey sitting in the midst of the rest of the dinner, fully prepared and ready to eat. Ulquiorra blinked slowly. "How…?"

"Apparently, Nel fixed up a second one for an elderly couple on her floor, but they decided to go visit their children last minute and didn't need it." Orihime smirked at him. "They knocked on the door a few minutes ago to return it, thanking her for her hard work. It's a bit smaller than the first one, but we've got plenty of other things to eat, so I doubt we'll miss it too much."

Nel beamed happily from where she stood. "Yes, now hurry up and sit down! We're starving!" she ordered them.

Overall, it was a beautiful Thanksgiving dinner, despite all the chaos in the beginning. And as much as they wanted to dig in to the feast, they were forced to go around and say what they were thankful for, which ranged from significant others (Starrk) to the end of the Second World War (Baraggan). When it came to Ulquiorra, he was silent a moment before saying "aglets" and attempting to ignore the ensuing glares sent to him from at least three different people. "What?" he asked.

"Is that all?" Rangiku asked, giving him a pointed look. He said nothing in response. "Fine!" She hit her palms against the table. "Since we're doing this for her sake, I would like to say that I'm thankful for Orihime. She came at just the right time; saved my ass on more than one occasion, and helped me reunite with my best friend."

Orihime blushed and looked down at her plate. "Come on, Boss."

"I'm thankful for Orihime, too," Nel said suddenly. "If it were not for her, I would still be unengaged." She fluttered her lashes at Grimmjow, who growled and took a sip of his drink before muttering:

"Yeah, me too." He glared at her. "I needed that verbal kick in the head."

"As did I," Tia spoke quietly. "If it weren't for her I never would have stopped blaming myself for that car accident."

"And I would have still been looking for an excuse to arrest Aizen," Gin threw in.

"I'd still be letting Lilynette dress inappropriately," Starrk winced, remembering the lecture he'd gotten from Orihime a few weeks prior while they had been preparing the front desk for Gin's return.

Nnoitra scoffed. "I'd be lacking in eye candy," he said, earning a kick from Grimmjow, who sat across from him. "Oww!"

"No, she is pretty good for bringing men into the studio," Luppi added, completely unashamed.

"Guys!" Orihime cried, hiding her face in her embarrassment.

Ulquiorra glanced at her a moment. "Alright," he said, "I think we all agree that Ms. Inoue is nice to look at and good at knocking sense into people, both physically and verbally."

"And as for _you_," Lilynette pointed an accusing finger at him, "you're a lot nicer than you used to be, Mr. Schiffer." At least half of the table nodded in agreement, Baraggan included. Even the puppy barked, the mutinous little creature.

"He would have never let so many people into his home, let alone for food," Nel laughed.

"And he wouldn't have been so kind as to invite me over for dinner when Nel finally dumped me," Grimmjow threw in.

"_And _he's playing the piano again, rather than staring holes into it," Szayel reminded them.

"The turkey is getting cold," Ulquiorra stated flatly.

"Why don't you just admit that Ms. Inoue's been good for you too?" Luppi said, casting him a sly grin, and then the entire table was waiting for Ulquiorra to speak. He glared at the assembly of traitors, becoming painfully aware of the fact that Orihime was looking at him, her face flushed in embarrassment from all of the attention. He sighed.

"It's nice to have company," his voice was low, as if he were trying to speak only loud enough for her to hear, "and despite the fact that I am still a horrible person, perhaps I _have_ changed. A little bit. Hardly dramatic enough of a difference to be seen."

Orihime smiled. She knew that was all that she was getting out of him, and judging by the way everyone was staring at her now, she guessed that it was her turn to speak. "Well," she fidgeted slightly, "I have to say, I've never had this many friends in my life. It's nice, knowing that there's someone to talk to when I'm in a bad mood. Or someone to hang out with when I'm bored, and someone to know I can depend on. So… thanks for that." She smiled at Ulquiorra, who was watching her curiously. "And I have to thank you, too. If it weren't for your conditions, your insufferable attitude, and your reluctant hospitality, I'd probably be dead."

She could have said much more, but she was getting suggestive stares from Rangiku and Nel, so she shut her mouth and motioned for them to start eating. Still, as dinner went on – a fight broke out between Gin and Rangiku over who would get the last piece of cornbread (Lilynette won by claiming it), they ran short on Yammy's spam musubi but not on turkey, and everyone agreed that the pumpkin pie was the most delicious that they'd ever tasted – Orihime got a good look at everyone gathered and got the sense that, for the first time since Sora died, she had people that she could call family.

And she couldn't have been happier.

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **That would have been a nice ending to the story, had it not been for all the unresolved sexual tension between our favorite pair.

Next Time: It's Ulquiorra's birthday, and there'll be more fireworks and explosions than the Fourth of July…


	28. Honesty

**Warnings: **-walks away-

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach or any other copyrighted material that may be mentioned in this story.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Honesty**

On the morning of December first, it had just begun to snow when Orihime woke up, springing out of bed as if it were already Christmas morning. She was about to cross another item off of her to-do list: decorating a tree, which she hadn't bothered with since the winter before Sora had passed away. It had always been one of her favorite holiday traditions; putting the tree together – they could never afford a real one – and stringing it up with lights, deciding where all of the ornaments should be placed, bickering over who would get to put the star on top, then spending Christmas Eve tucked beneath its glow, watching TV specials and belting carols until two in the morning. A huge smile lit up her face as she lifted the window blinds, watching the storm of snowflakes descend. Now all she had to do was wait for Ulquiorra to get his ass out of bed.

The new television that they had brought home on Black Friday beckoned to her, its fifty-inch screen ready to melt her face off with the clarity of its HD channels. When they'd hooked it up on the day after Thanksgiving and decided to test it with the first installment of _Lord of the Rings _in blu-ray, both had developed impressive headaches, but they'd still spent the rest of the day watching the entire trilogy in their sleep deprived states. Now she ran over and dove onto the sofa bed, wriggling across the surface of the mattress until she reached the remote control and hit the power button.

It was only seven in the morning? She hadn't even noticed when she'd gotten up, and apparently neither did her body, judging by how awake and hyper she felt. At least she had the local news anchors to keep her company; they were forecasting snow showers all throughout the day, with temperatures going no higher than the mid-thirties. Orihime would have listened to whatever else they were saying, but she was too distracted by the fact that she could see every wrinkle, pore, and strand of hair on their faces.

So she decided to take a shower, though she had half a mind to run into Ulquiorra's room and jump on his bed until he either got up or kicked her legs out from under her. It would all depend on his mood. The heater kept it nice and toasty inside, so she settled for wearing the same shorts and shirt she had worn the night she had first been brought to the apartment. She wasn't planning on going outside until much later, as she had, with great effort and a refusal to eat until he said yes, convinced Ulquiorra to go ice skating with everyone at the Karakura rink. Orihime smiled to herself as she turned beneath the blissfully hot shower water, imaging him attempting to skate, doubled over and flailing his arms for balance. But wait, what if he had lied about his inability and was actually on a professional level? She supposed she would just have to find out that night.

Once out of the bathroom, she skipped into the kitchen, determined to warm up her insides as well. In the spirit of Christmas, she had stolen Ulquiorra's computer and looked up how to make hot chocolate. She'd had to resort to the internet; Chizuru had an amazing recipe, but swore over the phone that she would take it to her grave _unless_ Orihime was willing to come visit her in a Santa outfit, complete with knee-high boots, red and white garter, and a "sack of goodies." Orihime had politely declined.

As she prepared the drinks, she heard movement and looked up in time to see Ulquiorra's stooped backside as he shuffled into the bathroom. It always amazed her to watch the transformation: pre-shower Ulquiorra was a bleary-eyed mess of a man, incapable of anything more than a grunt; post-shower Ulquiorra was a professional musician with sophisticated diction. It was that sort of drastic difference that made her wonder what he would be like drunk. Perhaps he'd be the weepy sort, the alcohol clearing his emotional constipation after two or three beers, and he'd cry about _everything_. Dead dogs, his inability to apologize to his father when he'd had the chance, abortion, the percentage of daily saturated fat in his favorite candy bar, the fact that the government had lied to him about the existence of global warming…

She prepared two mugs of hot chocolate and dumped a layer of marshmallows onto the top, thinking of everything she had to do that week. Rangiku had called the day before and told her that Haineko would be closed due to the forecasted snow storms, so she'd be working when the weather cleared tomorrow. She had promised to go over and help Lilynette make gingerbread houses for a charity event the Girl Scouts were doing on Thursday, and it was currently Tuesday. There was the ice skating tonight. Oh! She had to do Christmas shopping for absolutely everyone when she got her paycheck, and whatever she got Ulquiorra would have to be stupendous considering that, aside from the hot chocolate, she was empty-handed in terms of presents on his birthday.

Orihime went into the living room with her drink, placing it beside the television to allow it to cool as she made the sofa bed. The least she could do was find an excuse for why she hadn't bought him anything, one that wouldn't lead to her blaming him for not being able to come up with a decent gift. Every time she had asked, he'd listed something way out of her price range, like a seven-day, seven-night stay at a five-star beachside resort in the Bahamas that had to provide chocolate mints on each pillow, and allow pets so that she could come along too. Of course, it was that which had solidified her decision to make him wait until Christmas for any sort of gift.

She had just finished neatly arranging the sofa cushions when Ulquiorra came into the living room, showered and dressed but not looking very lively at all. He took her by the shoulders, moved her aside, then flopped face-down onto the couch and didn't move. Orihime stared at his back. "Good morning?"

"It is?" came his muffled voice. Orihime's shoulders sagged. It was too early for him to be this dramatic, so something had to be wrong, but knowing him, he'd probably blown whatever it was way out of proportion. She grabbed her hot chocolate and took a sip, savoring the warmth that slid down her throat before replying.

"It's your birthday," she said, leaning back against the console.

"Precisely," Ulquiorra turned over onto his side, facing away from her. "Today, I am twenty-four years old," he spun off tiredly. "Most men my age have graduated college and started careers by now, or at least moved on to an even higher education for their professional degrees. Hell, some have even gotten married and had a child or two."

Orihime blinked. "Yeah, and some of them are in jail. Do you have a point?"

_Sigh_. "I feel like I should be doing something… significant right now." He paused. "Is it too early to be having a midlife crisis, Ms. Inoue? I kind of want to go out and buy a Ferrari."

"Significant, huh? Here's an idea! How about you get up and fetch the Christmas tree? You can start your productivity streak by putting it together," she suggested, taking another sip of her hot chocolate. "And I made you a mug, so get your depressed butt into the kitchen and drink it before it gets cold." There was no way she was going to let him mope around just because he was young and probably already had enough money to retire. When he didn't move, she threatened to put all of his CDs in the wrong cases while he wasn't looking, which finally prompted him to get up – in a hurry, she noticed. He was so easy to manipulate, she thought with a smile.

While she tried to find something interesting to watch, Ulquiorra disappeared down the hall, returning a few minutes later, dragging the Christmas tree box behind him. Orihime left the television on a morning talk show where two middle aged women were demonstrating how to make the perfect fruitcake and ran to open the box. She'd asked Ulquiorra why he didn't get a real tree, and he'd said something about being allergic to pine needles, which she couldn't wrap her brain around. Hadn't he lived in Washington State for most of this life? Ah, well. Real trees smelled funny anyway.

She got to work separating the branches by size while Ulquiorra retrieved the box of lights and ornaments, so engrossed in her task that she didn't notice him come back into the room until he kicked the clear container in her direction. Orihime looked up at him. "Yes?"

"What are you doing this weekend?" he asked her, picking up the tree's box and fishing out the centerpiece to which the branches would be attached.

"Probably working, as usual, "she said thoughtfully, "though I'll be free afterward. Why?"

"My advanced students are performing in a Christmas concert hosted by the music store on Saturday, and as their instructor, I'm expected to be there," Ulquiorra said as he fastened the centerpiece to the base and put a few of the bottom branches on to see how far the tree would need to be from the wall. "They're not as terrible as the beginners, so it shouldn't be that bad. One of those semi-formal things with miniscule amounts of food and punch that tastes like the fluoride they give you at the dentist's office."

Orihime eyed him cautiously. If it were any other guy, she would have sworn she was being asked out on a date. But this was Ulquiorra: his motives were just about as questionable as his sexuality had been before he'd kissed her. Then again, she'd always wanted to see what kind of people he taught, so she put on a smile. "You want me to go with you?"

"That would be ideal," Ulquiorra said, then added, "Your presence would certainly be a nice way of letting down that high school girl without actually having to confront her about the misguided feelings she's been harboring for me."

Yup, she definitely knew better than to think he was asking her out on a date. She grabbed one of the branches and threw it at him. "Asshole," she muttered, trying to ignore the slight disappointment that was pricking at her heart. "I'm a little surprised, though. There are plenty of guys out there who would be happy to have jailbait chasing after them. How old is she?"

"You expect me to remember?" Ulquiorra said as he grabbed another handful of branches to put onto the tree.

"Is she cute?" Orihime looked up at him, pausing in her arranging as she waited for his reply. He spared her a glance.

"She's not my type." His voice was low, his expression betraying nothing as he held her gaze a second longer, then diverted his attention back to the Christmas tree. Orihime felt her heart flutter a bit. _Then what is your type_, she wanted to ask, but thought twice and instead focused on handing him branches. Such questions would get them nowhere, right? They were part of those blanks that needed filling; the unknown that she was finding it so hard to step into.

Once the tree was put together, the lights came next. Ulquiorra worked on stringing those while Orihime, trying to calm her nerves, began withdrawing ornaments. They were mostly white and gold, some sporting the occasional fleck of color, and they looked like they were the high-end sort that could endure being dropped two or three times before finally breaking. She also found handmade ornaments wrapped in tissue paper which must have come from his family: there was one for each member, dogs included, and one for each Christmas that he had spent with them. How sweet. Setting those aside, she began attaching the thin wire hooks to the ornaments so that they would be ready to hang once Ulquiorra was done with the lights.

In all, it took two hours for everything to be hung, with the exception of the topper. Both Orihime and Ulquiorra stared at it while, on the television, a different talk show host was coaching ladies on how to slim down in time to fit their Christmas cocktail dresses. "You should do it," Ulquiorra slid the star over to her, "as you're the guest."

"But you're the birthday boy." Orihime slid it back over to him. "And it's your tree, so you should do it."

"I'll do it next year." He pushed it in front of her. "Go ahead, Ms. Inoue. You obviously want to."

"I've gone six years without topping a tree. I can wait one more." She picked up the star and placed it into his hand. Ulquiorra stared at her uncertainly, but she showed no sign of changing her mind, so he shrugged.

"Alright then," he turned to put the star on the tree.

"Wait!" Orihime yelled, effectively stopping him. "That's _it_? Come on, we're supposed to banter like this for at least four more rounds before one of us emerges victorious. It's no fun if you give up so fast!" She stood up from the carpeted floor and reached out to take the oversized ornament from him, but he held it away from her.

"No. You've relinquished your right to the topper, and therefore, I'll be the one placing it onto the tree." He tried again, but this time she thought quickly and knocked it out of his hand. They both watched the star roll across the floor, coming to a rest between the sofa and the television, before kicking up the plastic pine needles that littered the carpet in their attempt to get to it. Ulquiorra, being taller, arrived first and plucked the topper off of the ground, holding it up and away at arm's length. Orihime, ever the petulant child, stood on her toes and attempted to pull his arm down. But she could only reach his wrist, and he pinched the star with the very tips of his fingers. She made a short leap for it, succeeding only in making him chuckle.

Damn it! There had to be an easier way of getting it from him. Orihime's eyes widened, then narrowed deviously. Of course there was. She still had to get him back for the refrigerator, after all.

Ulquiorra had just enough time to notice the change in her demeanor before she leaned up and pressed her lips to the very corner of his mouth. It was a simple peck, but the small gesture was enough to fracture the competitive atmosphere. Orihime drew back, coming to realize what she had done without really thinking. Wondering what it implied. And Ulquiorra gazed into her eyes, still holding the star out of reach, wondering the same.

It was the first time that _she _had kissed _him_. No matter how small, the act denoted some sort of interest… affection, even. She'd given herself away, made herself vulnerable, placed herself into his hands for breaking. No. It wasn't right. She needed to step back, to take control again. But she was trapped by his eyes, and then by his free hand, coming up to rest at her hip. Holding her there with a gentle grasp that she could have easily broken free of.

She didn't want to break free of it, she realized as he lowered his arm and let the topper roll out of his other hand. It hit the carpeted floor with a muted _thump_ that neither of them noticed, because it wasn't about winning or losing anymore. There was something far more pressing at hand: here they were, finally facing the unknown that she was so hesitant to tread.

Ulquiorra's hand pressed into the small of her back, pulling her body against his. Orihime's arms wrapped around him, her hands idly moving up his spine until her fingers found purchase between his shoulder blades. She could feel his quickened heart beat through his skin, the barely audible sigh that left him as he dipped his head towards hers. Her eyelids fluttered shut. Their noses touched. His lips ghosted over hers once, twice; the brief, teasing contact caused her skin to tingle.

She knew what he was doing. In his own subtle and wordless way, he was asking her to kiss him. And so she lifted her chin ever so slightly, capturing his bottom lip between hers. It was short, chaste, and completely put her in his power. He could pull away from her then, calling it another mistake and blaming it on the smell of the plastic Christmas tree pine needles or something equally stupid…

…and breaking her heart in the process? _Would_ her heart be broken if he denied her again?

She wouldn't find out. He responded with a kiss of his own, one that matched the tenderness of their first and the certainty of their second. She returned it, sighing softly from the brief loss of contact before the next. His grip on her waist tightened as her head tilted, the kiss deepening. Their lips moved together, finding a rhythm that both could keep without being overwhelmed. It was torturously slow for Orihime, who was used to men who were frantic to get to whatever happy ending they'd paid for. But this was different. Ulquiorra had always been different.

The kiss ended sooner than she would have liked. She opened her eyes, green clashing with gray as both sought the answer to the same question: would it be alright to continue? He lifted his left hand and swept a few strands of hair away from her face, lightly caressing her cheek with his knuckles. And she, without thinking again, turned her head to brush her lips against his fingers. All traces of doubt left his gaze. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, both cheeks, her top lip, her bottom lip. Her face flushed pink at the affectionate display, the butterflies in her stomach flying in complete disorder.

She engaged him in another long, sensual kiss, taking a step forward and effectively sending the tree topper skittering beneath the coffee table. Ulquiorra moved with her until the backs of his legs met the sofa and he fell onto it, pulling her along. He was at a disadvantage with her looming over him, but didn't let that deter him in the slightest. The hands he'd kept at her waist now tangled in her auburn tresses, bringing her into a harder, more urgent kiss. A tiny noise escaped her throat when his fingertips met her scalp, and she half-tensed with embarrassment. But he kissed that tension away, slowing their pace to try something new.

Orihime went weak in the knees when she felt his tongue flicker against her lips. Oh, it just wasn't fair. Was he always going to be the first to make her submit? Her lips parted in response, granting him the permission he sought. He took advantage of his grip on her hair to angle her head better as his tongue slid against hers and the butterflies in her stomach burst into flame. She didn't try to suppress the soft, breathless moan that left her, and he answered with a throaty sound of his own. Their tongues tangled, mimicking the endless fight for dominance that had begun the day she'd come to live with him. Only she no longer cared who won the match; it didn't matter. She was tumbling into oblivion and wanted to take him down with her, both of them lost in the darkness where no one – not their friends, not their families, not their responsibilities – would ever find them again. She could have died in that embrace, and the thought should have terrified her, but it didn't.

Because she trusted him.

The television and the Christmas tree now entirely forgotten, Orihime found the top button of Ulquiorra's shirt and clumsily twisted it open, wasting no time with the second, the third, and so on. When she could push the fabric away from his skin, she let her cold hands wander his torso, earning another groan of approval from the pianist. And rather than keeping her away this time, he relinquished her hair, seized her hips and brought them against his. Orihime let out a mewl and bit down gently on his bottom lip, which she followed with the caress of her tongue. Then she broke the kiss altogether, trailing her bruised lips from the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his neck. She sucked on the skin of his collar, leaving a small mark as proof of her momentary victory. His breathing had gone ragged; his chest rose and fell unevenly as she explored his upper body with both her hands and her mouth.

But Ulquiorra must have reached the peak of his frustration. Without warning he sat up and wrapped his arms around her waist. He kissed her lips, her neck, the place above her erratically beating heart. Now positioned in his lap, Orihime could feel just how frustrated he was. She ran her hands through his hair, down his neck, across his chest. And they looked at each other, gazes clouded with lust and longing, as he pushed up into her, the friction causing them both to moan. Then she lost her patience and pressed her lips to his, starting up the dance again.

In one swift movement, Ulquiorra turned and finally had her beneath him. Her arms came up to lock securely around his shoulders, fingers playing in his hair, nails dragging across his skin. Their tongues twisted and breathing mingled. He lifted his knee and pressed it firmly into the junction between her legs, pulling from her an obscene sound that scattered the few thoughts left in his mind. "_Ulquiorra_," she gasped into his mouth, bringing her hands down to undo his belt.

But it was that which restored Ulquiorra's senses, sobering him up faster than an ice cold shower. He grabbed firm hold of her wrists and pinned her arms down at her sides. Then Orihime whimpered, for she felt that something had changed. The urgency was leaving his kisses, slowing though they did not yet let up in pressure. She tried to reengage him, sliding her tongue against his lips until they parted for her. Unfortunately, the aggression was gone. He pulled away before long, appeasing her with a few more gentle kisses, and then drew back altogether.

Orihime panted, her mind laced with confusion. What was happening? Weren't they finally giving in to their primal urges? Wasn't she going to distract him from the fact that she'd yet to buy him a birthday present by making a man out of him? Apparently not, for Ulquiorra then shattered the silence with a sentence that she didn't quite understand:

"I don't want to have sex with you."

Orihime blinked, then her gaze lowered to his pants, her eyebrow arching. Clearly, the opposite was true. Ulquiorra sighed, his eyes narrowing. "That's not what I meant." Really, was he going to have to spell it out for her?

No, he wouldn't, because that simple declaration had caused something to _shift_. Orihime stared up at him, feeling as if someone had picked up Las Noches and flipped it upside-down, foundation and all, she had been shaken so profoundly. Her brain switched back to 'on', and she couldn't stop the flood of thoughts that began churning like a storm, ready to sweep her off of her feet. Everything that she had shoved into the background, refused to think about, too afraid to bring to light came bursting to the surface, crying out, demanding her attention. And even though she had regained her ability to breathe, her heart still pounded in her ribcage as if it were in distress.

Everything was coming together, a hurricane of emotions and realizations brewing, advancing upon her. She wasn't ready for it, but she couldn't stop it. She'd ignored it for too long. It was here, and it was going to hit her so hard that she would probably break into a million pieces, ripped apart by the wind and the rain. But she had no shelter from it, and each blink of her eyelids felt like it lasted an eternity as she saw the things that she had been trying to deny as clear as day. Love, something that she had ignorantly claimed did not exist, in its many forms: the sacrificial, in Grimmjow and Nel; the unbiased, in Starrk and Tia; the utterly devoted, in Gin and Rangiku; the loyal, in Toshiro and Momo. But she had also seen what that love had done to them: the tears, the terror, the insecurity. It had all fallen to pieces _before_ it had fallen into place, and she knew that she couldn't deal with that, but it was too late. Oh God, it was too late.

She was scared. The storm was coming for her, and all she wanted to do was hide. "O-Oh, really?" Her voice sounded so weak and small, drowned out by the roar of the wind. She had to find shelter. She had to run. A short laugh burst from her throat. _Run. Hide. _She pulled herself up onto her elbows, her legs sliding out from underneath him. Her body was shaking, recovering from the state he had left her in, but she felt dizzy and weak and oh, so very scared. "Because," she said, and the word vomit tumbled from her lips like the blasphemies of the damned, "I could have sworn that's what this was all about."

There. She'd made her excuse, but to her horror, it didn't stop the typhoon coming towards her with its menacing lightning and crashing thunder. And she felt his eyes on her back as she stood from the sofa, sensing another violent shift in the atmosphere. _Run, hide, get out of here now_. His hand seized her wrist, preventing her from leaving. "What?" No, she didn't want to do this. Not with that wall of wind and water, of thoughts and feelings and everything that could hurt her, glaring her in the face, daring her to deny its presence again.

"I-I mean, come on," a hollow giggle bubbled to the surface. "Taking me in without expecting anything in return? Ha, yeah right." She couldn't let him see her face. "I've been on to you since day one."

A harder tug on her arm as he stood, and she felt the intensity of those green eyes burning into her body. Oh, he'd always had the uncanny ability to see right through her. Could he do it now, when she needed but didn't want him to? "_What_?" He was angry. She was caught between two equally violent forces: his rage and her heart, both demanding for her to acknowledge them.

"Am I really supposed to think," her voice had taken on a mocking tone, but whether she was laughing at him or her or both, she couldn't tell. She wasn't thinking straight. She had to leave. Oh, if only he would let her go. "Am I really supposed to think that, after so many years, I've finally found an honest man? There's no such thing!" she cried, spewing the statement as if it were solid fact. No, she couldn't believe that. Her eyes closed and she saw the sea of faces, blurring together, all with the same intent: to take what they could and throw her away afterward. "You're no different from them." She was so scared, trying to convince herself that this was true, that nothing set Ulquiorra Schiffer apart from every other piece of shit liar she had ever opened her legs for.

She didn't know how right she was.

Ulquiorra released her arm, but not before turning her around so that she could see him. He was definitely pissed. His eyes were narrowed at her, his jaw clenched, the muscles in his arm tensed for a fight. "You think I give a damn about honesty?" he spat venomously, and she recoiled from his fury, the light from the open window catching the anklet that she reflexively put on every day. His gaze flickered down to it, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards into the most bitter smile she had ever seen. "You want to know the truth, Ms. Inoue?" he asked, his eyes trapping hers again. "Did you never once think it odd that an anklet made to fit you so well would just slip off in the middle of the night?"

Orihime took another step back, but he didn't move to pursue her. "What are you talking about?"

"That first day –that _very first day_ that we met. You lost your brother's precious anklet," Ulquiorra went on. "At least, you thought you'd lost it. But that's not what happened, Ms. Inoue. See, what _really_ happened was, I found you in the alley that night, sure. And I thought to just call an ambulance and let it be, but I couldn't do that. Not when, the moment I laid eyes on you, I heard music for the first time in six God-awful years." She stared at him, her heart and stomach twisting in unison. "So I brought you home, but I figured that you would leave when you woke up." The bitter smile faded away. "Do you understand, Ms. Inoue?" he growled. "I needed an excuse. I had to find some way to bring you back. Do you see it now? That anklet didn't fall off. I _stole_ it." His voice lowered. "I took it right from your unconscious body."

…_Monday, August 24, 2009…_

Ulquiorra Schiffer was not amused. He sat between Nelliel, who was tipsy and quickly becoming an emotional wreck at the sight of her boyfriend Grimmjow flirting shamelessly with the girl at the bar, and Nnoitra, who was flirting shamelessly with a brunette girl that he'd met two minutes prior. It had been the Frenchman's idea to come to the karaoke bar, and of course, Ulquiorra had vehemently refused at first. He didn't drink, and contrary to Grimmjow's suggestion, hearing intoxicated people belting song lyrics off-key would not inspire him to compose anything.

Though it might inspire him to jump off of a bridge.

He stared at the half-empty glass of water in his hand, then jumped when Nel suddenly slammed her beer bottle down onto the table. "I am going to sing," she declared in her thick accent, sliding out of the booth and wobbling towards the stage on thin wedge heels. Ulquiorra watched as she picked her song, then went up to the microphone, clearing her throat. By now Nnoitra had dismissed the brunette, but not without scoring her phone number.

"Sad, isn't it?" he said to Ulquiorra, clapping him on the shoulder. "Jaegerjaques doesn't know what he's got, the selfish bastard." Leaning forward on his elbows, he watched Nel somewhat longingly as she launched into a spiteful rendition of a break up song.

"Why don't you take her from him, then?"Ulquiorra asked.

Nnoitra considered this for a moment, stroking his chin. "Because," he replied finally, "Grimmjow's always going to be the hero of her life. She isn't going to stop loving him, even if she dates someone else." He took a swig of his beer. "Basically, I gave up on her a long time ago." Ulquiorra nodded, pretending he understood. "And besides, I'm no good for her anyway." Nnoitra grinned as two women in short skirts pranced past. "Her boyfriend's bad when it comes to chasing tail, but I've got to be the worst!" he declared proudly before standing and going after the girls.

Ulquiorra sighed and downed the rest of his water, then picked up his umbrella and slid out of the booth himself. What was he even doing there? He made his way across the slippery floor, approaching Grimmjow, who was now glaring at Nel and ignoring the bar girl altogether, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm going home."

"What? But we just got here!" Grimmjow said in that whiny tone he gained after a beer or two.

"_You_ can stay and keep making an ass of yourself," Ulquiorra responded coldly. "I'm leaving." Then he turned for the door without another word, pretending not to hear his friend's complaints as he emerged into the humid, rainy night. Opening his umbrella, he lifted it over his head and stepped into the crowd, following the familiar path home. He paused as a group of five college students – two guys and two girls with a loud, redheaded male leading them – passed in front of him, entering the brightly lit café next to _Tiburón_, the clothing store owned by his neighbor, Tia Harribel. By then it was closed, but he could see her still inside, dressing mannequins for the next day.

Rounding the street corner, he looked ahead and winced against the glare of the neon sign on a recently opened diner called _Haineko_. He hadn't had anything at the bar, and all of the rain was giving him the sudden urge to drink coffee, which he realized that he'd run out of. Looks like he would be paying the grocery store a visit in the morning.

As Ulquiorra approached, he saw Gin Ichimaru, the man who ran the front desk of his apartment complex, walking past the diner, but not without glancing into the window and slowing for a moment. Then the albino man picked up his pace, ducking his head as he disappeared into the crowd. Huh, weird. Ulquiorra crossed the street quickly, closing his umbrella and shaking it free of excess water before pulling open the diner's front door. A cheerful girl named Momo greeted him, giving him a seat at the bar where a busty blonde – the manager, if her different uniform was anything to go by – served him a mug of coffee. He ended up drinking it a little faster than he'd meant to, suddenly realizing that he might have left the window open in his apartment.

"What's up, boss?"

A sigh. "Oh, I don't know." The busty blonde chewed her full lip anxiously. "I'm a little worried about that girl who was here earlier."

"The redhead?"

"Yeah. Poor thing was drunk as a skunk. What if something happens to her because I didn't force her to stay while I called her a cab?" Ulquiorra set down the mug and reached for his wallet, sifting through it for the appropriate amount of bills.

"Can't let those things get you down, Rangiku. It'd be her own fault if she gets herself killed."

"I guess, but still…" He left the money on the bar, thanking the blonde before heading towards the door, opening his half-dry umbrella as soon as he was outside. The wind was blowing in a direction that would almost guarantee that his apartment would be perfectly dry, but he was still worried; he was responsible for paying for any water damage done to the property if and when he left.

There weren't many people out on the street anymore. They had probably either gone home or ducked into any place offering shelter from the deluge, like the sensible human beings that they were. And it must have been that, the lack of a crowd to keep him unaware of his surroundings, which made him stop walking when a streak of color caught his eye. He turned his head, staring into the alley next to the Haineko Diner, and his heart immediately dropped into his stomach. There was a woman laying on the wet ground, sprawled out on her side, unmoving, a curtain of damp red hair spilling out around her. Ulquiorra looked in each direction once before he stepped into the alley; the last thing he needed was someone coming by and accusing him of attacking her.

First things first: he checked the pulse at her neck. She grumbled in response, and he breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the life thrumming beneath his fingertips. Good, she wasn't dead. Judging by the hair, this must have been the woman that the diner's manager had been worrying about. He frowned. So that meant that she was in a drunken stupor, and taking in her outfit – the white button-up shirt that strained to contain her cleavage, the shorts that barely covered her bottom, and the knee-high boots with the stiletto heels – he guessed that she couldn't have been up to anything innocent that night.

It would have been easiest to call an ambulance, he thought, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. But when he unlocked it, the light from the screen hit the woman's face, illuminating her soft features, and Ulquiorra hesitated. He stretched out his arm and moved the hair away from her temple, getting a better look at her. She was kind of pretty. Her cheeks were rosy from the alcohol she'd consumed, her lashes long. She looked like the sort of person who should have had life all figured out, everyone she knew eating out of the palm of her hand. So why was she passed out in an alley, smelling of what he recognized from his sick days as the unmistakable stench of vomit?

Suddenly, Ulquiorra's eyes widened. _What was that_? In his mind, barely audible but definitely there, he heard something. An achingly familiar sound. Were those… notes? After six years of silence, was he really hearing a composition being brought to life? They were coming together, forming the opening lines of what he could already tell was going to be a beautiful melody, a magnificent piece not unlike the ones he used to write. He sat in shock, unable to believe it. But when he looked at the woman again, the music became a little louder, tugging at his impulses like a child wanting to play.

So that's how it was going to be? If he wanted to compose again, to reunite with his first love, he would have to take this woman with him? He'd have to call Szayel in to make sure she wasn't dying of alcohol poisoning, of course. Ulquiorra set the umbrella down on the wet gravel and leaned over, slipping one arm beneath the redhead's shoulders, the other beneath her knees. She wasn't all that heavy, luckily for him. He carefully grabbed the umbrella again, navigating it into the crook of his elbow so that it would cover both of them, then stood up. The woman's head lolled to the side, her nose against his chest, her brow furrowing in either pain or annoyance, probably both. And he carried her out of the alley, this perfect stranger, with his eyes on the towering apartment complex in the distance.

It took him a bit longer than usual to get home, and he'd gotten plenty of odd looks from passerby on the way. He'd even had to stop once or twice to politely explain that this was his girlfriend, who was a bit of a party animal and had gotten drunk and danced in the rain until she'd passed right out, all the while cursing the public's paranoia. Stupid people. Did he look like some kind of serial killer? Well, scratch that. There were plenty of baby-faced murderers out there. They had every right to be concerned, but it was still such an inconvenience.

He entered his apartment, glad that nobody had been in the lobby, elevator, or hallway to see him and start the rumor weed. To his relief – and slight irritation, as the panic had caused him to drink his coffee too fast – the window was closed. Dropping his umbrella onto the floor, he carried the unconscious girl into the living room, where he attempted to place her upright on the armchair. She kept slumping over, though, so he eventually draped her across the seat, her legs hanging off of the side. Satisfied, he got to work pulling out the sofa bed, all the while considering whether or not he should call Szayel. The woman hadn't displayed any signs of alcohol poisoning; she was just unconscious.

_Snore_.

Okay, she was asleep. Ulquiorra went and retrieved clean sheets for the sofa bed, dressing it hastily, then turned back to his guest. She couldn't sleep in those wet clothes; pneumonia would kill her before alcohol poisoning did. And so he went back into his room, took one of his clean white shirts from the closet, and returned to the living area. He tried not to look while undressing her, though he would occasionally have to, and the result would be him wishing he knew a female in the building who could do this for him – Nelliel and Tia were still out, and they were the only acquaintances close enough to him that would understand that he was trying to do a good thing. But he somehow got it done, dropping her clothes into the washer in the laundry room.

Now then, he thought as he poured detergent into the machine, he had the girl for as long as she was asleep, because he had the strangest feeling that she would flee the moment she woke up in the morning. How did he go about _keeping _her? After all, he had a lesson to teach in t-minus seven hours and counting, so chances were that he wouldn't be around when she decided to run.

He walked back into the living room, staring at the sleeping redhead as if she were a puzzle in need of solving. Supposing that he should move her to the sofa bed, he came forward and crouched down, staring at her boots. There was a zipper down the side, which he pulled open slowly and very quietly. If she were to become lucid now, he was going to get a kick in the face, and perhaps a police interrogation when she called 911 on him. Luckily, she didn't even stir, allowing him to remove the boots without a fuss.

A glint of gold caught his attention. In the light from the hallway – he hadn't wanted to risk switching on the one overhead – the thin gold chain hugging her ankle shimmered beautifully. He reached out and turned it very carefully until the plate was visible, the name _Orihime _engraved into its surface. Hmm, that was interesting. A girl wearing such low-quality clothes, carrying a knock-off purse with a cheap plastic lighter and a loser brand of cigarettes, as well as cell phone from the stone ages… owned what looked to be an authentic gold anklet?

Ulquiorra was well known for being observant, and this piece of jewelry stood out as an important clue to her personality. Surely she would miss it if it disappeared, right? This was it, then. He twisted the chain around until he found the clasp and, with little thought to the fact that he was stealing, unfastened it and let the anklet slip into his palm.

He kept it with him when he set out the next morning, in case the woman was one to snoop. He felt its shape in his pocket as he walked, admired it in the sunlight as he waited for his student to come in, and turned those fleeting notes over and over in his mind, wishing he'd gotten more than just a beginning. When he returned to Las Noches after a trip to the store for coffee and, upon entering the lobby, was bumped into by his rumpled guest, he made like he didn't know her despite the fact that she was wearing his shirt. "Sorry," she said curtly.

"Ah," He bowed his head just enough to peer down the top of her boot and see the bare skin where her anklet should have been. "No harm done." And then she was gone.

Of course, she would be back, he knew. It was only a matter of time before the desperation to find her anklet had her turning up at his doorstep. And if not, he would simply go looking for her. Good Samaritans were always returning lost jewelry, right? He watched her for a moment as she limped away from the building, then continued on his walk toward the elevator, as if it were any other normal day. While he waited for the results of his little experiment, he decided that he'd spend the afternoon attempting to compose a middle and an ending for that mysterious new piece forming in his brain.

For as long as that woman was his muse, he would not let her go until he'd squeezed every last drop of inspiration out of her.

…_Tuesday, December 1, 2009…_

In the silence that followed his explanation, Orihime could do nothing but stare at him in disbelief. She knew what she _should _have done: reacquainted his face with her fist. In fact, she could see herself doing it, the muscles in her arm already preparing to inflict pain. She even took two steps toward him before she stopped dead in her tracks. It should have been so easy to just let herself go and beat him until he was black and blue and bleeding all over the carpet. He deserved it, right?

No. No, he didn't. This was all her fault. She was the one who had been stupid enough to let herself be taken for a ride. Come to think of it, she should have been suspicious, what with how uncharacteristically happy she'd been lately. When had that _ever _happened to her? When had she ever been given anything less than the best of life's worst?

It all made perfect sense now. Talk about the let down of the century. But again, she had no one to blame but herself. She'd forgotten her place in the Grand Scheme. She'd been silly enough to believe that this was all going somewhere; that she was finally going to get a break and just be allowed to live a normal life for once. How stupid. Seriously, she had to have been the biggest idiot on the planet. It was almost laughable. Yeah… she wanted to point at herself in the mirror and laugh.

She couldn't hit this man standing in front of her. Because as she lifted her eyes to look into his face, she realized that she didn't _know _this man. He wasn't Paco, he wasn't even Ulquiorra. And as the seconds went by, everything that had happened in the last few months, all the progress she'd made, all the ties that they had forged fell away like the cover-sheet dropping from an unwanted present, leaving a prostitute and a pianist – two complete strangers – standing face to face with nothing to keep them together.

Orihime's lips pursed, her brow furrowing, her chest feeling like it had been hollowed out and then filled with cement. She nodded as if she were accepting the terms to a game that she had already lost. It surprised her, but she found that was able to speak, though her voice sounded distant and small. "I'm leaving," she said quietly, nodding again. Leaving. That seemed like a good idea.

She walked past Ulquiorra, grabbing her purse as she went, and slipped her feet into the pair of knee-high boots standing by the front door. No jacket, no more words, no tears. She would not cry.

And he didn't try to stop her, she noticed as she left the apartment, took the elevator to the ground floor, and passed Kira without a greeting. She pushed the doors open, emerging into a white winter wonderland and giving no thought to how cold it was as she set off down the street, fat snowflakes drifting and spinning in the air, catching on her clothing, her exposed skin, her hair; chilling the places that Ulquiorra had set aflame not even an hour ago. Her feet dragged along in the snow, the anklet that she adored so much feeling like a ball and chain shackled to her leg. She had no idea where she was going, but it didn't matter much, as long as she got away from Las Noches and everyone inside of it.

Funny, she remembered now how anxious she had been to escape that building the first time. What on Earth had ever possessed her to go back? A moment of weakness; that was all that it had been, but that moment had cost her so very much. Her capacity to trust had been decimated, her dignity was in shambles. It was the greatest Walk of Shame in the history of prostitution.

He'd used her.

Wow. She was still in shock, but she could believe it. He was a man, after all, and when had she ever believed that she could find one capable of honesty? Oh, but in telling her the truth, he _had _been honest with her. He'd even confessed that he hadn't really been out with that Loly girl back in her fake-dating days. From the very beginning to the very end, he hadn't lied to her once, and that made him an honest man. The only one she had ever met.

But he'd used her. Not even for her body, either, but for her heart, for her very soul. And wasn't that so much worse? It certainly felt worse.

Still, she couldn't blame him. She was like the women who insisted that it was her fault that their husbands had cheated on them. To point a finger at Ulquiorra and tell him that he was responsible for her misery would be childish, especially when it was _her _who had been stupid enough to believe him.

Stupid enough to fall in love with him.

Ah, there it was. Out in the open at last. She'd been right about the hurricane force of her realization ripping her to shreds. But she hadn't been counting on Ulquiorra to add to that, pulverizing what was left of her heart into unrecognizable ashes. A weak smile fluttered onto her face. Yes, leave it to her to forget everything life had taught her, to let such a person slip past her defenses and crush her naïve hopes between his piano-playing hands. It figured that she _would _unwittingly choose the most horrible person on the planet to offer her most vulnerable self to: the wolf in sheep's clothing, with those sharp green eyes and that mouth waiting to devour her.

But it was worse than that, even, because _she'd been warned_. She understood now why Natalia had told her about her past with Ulquiorra, about how he'd used her and discarded her once he'd gotten what he needed, leaving her brokenhearted and alone in Italy. She understood why he'd ended their first kiss so abruptly. Oh God, had he done that for the sake of his inspiration as well? Had his manipulation really been so thorough? She remembered the day of his father's funeral, when he'd made it a point to look straight at her and say, "_And often, the people that we care about the most will be the ones who let us down_." He'd tugged off the disguise, shown her the monster beneath the harmless exterior, but she'd continued to skip right towards her demise. And what the hell for?

_I will not cry_. Her feet carried her out of the Hueco Mundo district, leaving tracks through the thickening blanket of snow. _I will not cry_. Her gray eyes stared blankly ahead, her destination just about the only thing left programmed into her brain. _I will not cry_. She walked into the familiar, run-down apartment complex and felt along the bottom of her purse for her keys. _I will not cry_. The room was exactly as she'd left it back in September: beer bottles, roaches, carpet stains and all.

And so she knew where to look. In the empty kitchen, she found a lighter that still worked. Underneath the couch, which she laid down on after dropping her purse onto the floor and kicking off her boots, she groped around until she felt her palm hit the small box that she kept there for easy access. She pulled it off of the floor, instinctively lifting the flap and shaking out one neatly packaged cigarette onto her hand. A small flame burst from the lighter on the third try, and she stuck the cigarette between her lips mechanically, touching the end to the fire.

Then she leaned back, closing her eyes as she took a deep breath, allowing the smoke to curl in her lungs before she let it out in a steady stream.

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Remember ten chapters ago, when I mentioned Murphy's Law: _Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong_, and then added the fact that I fully intended to make _everything_ go wrong? This is only the beginning of it, ladies and gentlemen. Join me next time as I explore the extent of my sadism.


	29. I Won't Go Home Without You

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach or any of its characters.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**I Won't Go Home Without You**

…_Day One…_

It was sometime in the evening when the front door unlocked and Grimmjow, dressed for the snowy weather outside, walked in with Nel on his arm and ice skates in hand. Caught in mid-conversation, they had expected to find Ulquiorra and Orihime ready to head out to the Karakura Town rink. Instead, their talk tapered off, their smiles fading as they saw Ulquiorra seated at the piano, keys covered, drawing out measure after measure of music in his notebook at such a speed that they couldn't keep up with the composition. In the corner of the living room, the Christmas tree remained unlit, the topper on the floor underneath the coffee table.

Grimmjow blinked, dropping his ice skates onto the carpet. "Dude, we were supposed to leave at seven. Is Orihime in the shower or something?" he asked him, checking the time on his cell phone. Figures that the mastermind of Ulquiorra's spontaneously scheduled birthday celebration would be running late.

Ulquiorra's left hand paused in its writing for a moment. "No," he said at length, not even looking up at them, "she isn't."

Nel surveyed the area. Everything was so… unorganized. It wasn't like Ulquiorra to leave things unfinished, or stuff lying on the floor. The television was on, channel set to the local news station, where a weather report was cheerfully forecasting slightly warmer temperatures the next day. There were two mugs on the kitchen counter, unwashed. But he didn't seem to notice this as he continued to write, green eyes fixed on the lined page that was quickly filling with notes and rests and accents.

Grimmjow began to feel uneasy. "Well then, where is she?"

Ulquiorra got to the bottom of the page, reaching out with his right hand to turn it so that he could continue. But he hesitated, if only for a second, before he flipped to another sheet covered in bars waiting to be marked. "She's gone," he told them, then lifted his pencil and began to write again.

…_Day Two…_

Grimmjow grabbed the knob that controlled his truck's heater and twisted it all the way to the red, cursing the ancient automobile and rubbing his hands together as he waited at a stop light. He'd taken the day off from work, not wanting to waste any time in beginning his search. He could have complained, but he tried to imagine Nel sitting beside him and scolding him. Unfortunately, all that he could see was the wide-eyed, worried look she'd had on her face when he had dropped her off at class a few hours earlier. The light turned green, and he pulled forward, following the Hueco Mundo traffic as it led him throughout the district's densely populated blocks.

Nothing. It must have been his fourth drive around the area, and he'd had a few close calls with other redheads, but so far there was no sign of Orihime anywhere. It was like she'd dropped off the face of the earth, ceased to exist the moment she'd walked out the door. He liked to think that Ulquiorra had a built-in sensor that could pinpoint the woman's location, but when he'd asked the pianist that morning – after making sure that he ate something, as he had apparently skipped lunch and dinner on his birthday – he had been answered with a casual shrug.

"Ulquiorra," Grimmjow had said, watching his best friend's hands fly over the piano keys, producing what sounded like a new composition, "some help would be appreciated."

"It's none of my concern," Ulquiorra had replied, stringing together a beautiful series of notes that almost distracted Grimmjow from the task at hand.

It had taken a bit of prodding, but as he'd pulled pieces off of the cereal bar that had comprised his entire breakfast, Ulquiorra had finally told Grimmjow that he and Orihime had experienced a conflict of interest. It had been a short argument, and in the end, they had both agreed to disagree and she had walked out of her own volition. There was no reason to freak out, no reason to look for her. She was fine. A strong and independent woman like her wouldn't sit around sulking over a petty dispute.

But the toneless and detached manner in which he'd spoken had made Grimmjow's anxiety shoot through the roof. If that were indeed the case, then why hadn't she answered her phone when Nel had called her? Had she not wanted to talk to them, she could have turned it off, let it go straight to voicemail. But even now, as he sat in the truck cab with his cell pressed against his ear, her phone rang and rang, and no one picked up.

The streets were full of people going about their business, Christmas shopping and enjoying their lunch breaks, stepping carefully around patches of ice and piles of slush leftover from the snowfall. Grimmjow pulled the phone away from his face and ended the call, staring out of the windshield. He was half-tempted to file a missing persons report with the police. No, he couldn't do that. Not yet. There was still an entire city left to search. And besides, Ulquiorra would probably kill him – as would Orihime, if indeed nothing was wrong with her.

At noon, he received a call from Nel, desperate to know if he had made any progress. "_I would have sent you a text message if I had_," he said in French, flooring the brakes when he almost rear-ended the car in front of him. Note to self: No talking while driving.

Downtown, on the university campus, Nel sat outside of one of the residence halls gazing at the bare branches of the tree above her head, lunch sitting untouched in her lap. "Did you try the diner yet?" she asked him, to which he replied no, and she winced when his horn's honk reached her through the speakers. "Maybe Rangiku will know where to look."

"_Maybe_," Grimmjow muttered with a sigh. She could practically see him running a hand through his hair, as he often did when he was stressed. And though she didn't want to worry him, she couldn't stop the question that snuck out of her mind, one she was sure he'd been considering all day.

"Love," she whispered fearfully, "where do you think Orihime could have gone?"

Another loud curse at whoever was in front of him. "_I don't know, but I'll call you as soon as I find out_."

Nel nodded, wishing she could fight down the wave of panic churning in her stomach. This wasn't like Orihime. She wouldn't have taken off without telling anybody. But Ulquiorra wasn't helping at all, and a one-man search party wouldn't be able to cover the entire city. "Eep!" she squealed when someone tapped her on the shoulder. Grimmjow, who was still on the other line, began asking her what had happened, but Nel ignored him as she whirled around, heart racing, hoping that it would be…

Oh, it was just a guy. With dark hair cropped short and rectangular glasses, he seemed startled as he drew back his hand, apologizing for scaring her. "You… I'm sorry, I overheard as I was walking by. You wouldn't be talking about Orihime Inoue, would you?"

Nel blinked, eyes widening. "Yes!" she answered breathlessly as Grimmjow continued to bark into the phone.

"I-Is she alright?" the young man asked, his brows drawing together in concern.

Nel's hopes fell faster than a deflated balloon. "We don't know where she is," she confessed, lowering her head to stare at the dead grass between them. "She disappeared yesterday, without a single word to anyone." Grimmjow had fallen silent now, listening to whatever conversation his girlfriend was carrying. The glasses-wearing boy half-turned, waving at a carrot-topped guy who, after a few seconds of scrutiny, Nel recognized as one of the university's football players.

"Kurosaki, come here for a sec," he addressed him informally.

Nel held a hand to her warming cheeks. Wow, _Ichigo Kurosaki _was coming to talk to her! She had only seen him on the television, or from the bleachers during football games, so she couldn't help feeling a little star struck as he ambled up beside the other boy. "What's up, Ishida?" he asked, looking down at Nel. "Who's this?"

"A friend of Orihime's," Ishida responded, and Ichigo blinked in surprise, "apparently she's gone missing."

Ichigo's expression immediately changed to one of shock. "What?" He lifted a hand to his forehead. "No way. The last time we saw her was with that smart-mouthed asshole and his blue-haired, douchebag friend."

Nel's cheeks flushed further with embarrassment. "Blue-haired douchebag is my fiancé," she filled in quietly, ignoring the _Hey! _from the other end of the phone. The two boys grinned at the mere irony of the situation, but then the one named Ishida became serious again.

"If you need help looking, we could lend you a few hands," he said to her kindly, and Nel nodded eagerly, a little excited that she would be able to brag to her friends that she'd talked to a star football player. Then she remembered the phone and turned back to her doubtlessly pouting boyfriend.

"Love, come here right away!"

…

Needless to say, Grimmjow was not happy about the fact that he would have to be working with Orihime's high school friends, the ones who had gotten Ulquiorra pissed off enough to break his gentlemanly demeanor in public. However, Nel reminded him that this wasn't about whatever had happened in September; they all had a common goal now, though they had to reassure Ichigo that Ulquiorra would not be taking part in the search. He was still smarting from the insult, too.

With the added eyes of Rukia and her fiancé Renji, Ishida and the behemoth Chad, and Ichigo with his girlfriend – and Orihime's former best friend – Tatsuki, who Nel took an immediate liking to, the band of eight set out after their classes had ended to scour the city. Unfortunately, after hours of covering the entire Hueco Mundo district by foot, they were still unable to locate the missing girl.

Grimmjow had stopped in at Las Noches to check on Ulquiorra halfway through their adventure and had found him lying on the living room floor, three pints of different flavored ice cream open around his head, which he periodically dug into, though they appeared to have melted a solid hour ago. "Ulquiorra, what the fuck?" He reached down and pulled the cartons away. "This isn't dinner."

"My stomach hurts," the black-haired male informed him.

"Probably because you've been eating melted ice cream." Grimmjow sighed, rolling his eyes as he carried the warm, soupy remnants into the kitchen. "By the way, if you find your balls anytime soon, we're out looking for Orihime," he said as he dumped the flavored liquid into the sink and ran the tap. "Feel free to join us." There was no reply, so he threw out the cartons and picked up his keys, heading for the door. "Coward," he grumbled irritably as he slammed it shut behind him.

The search party congregated at the café next to Tia's store for dinner, all of them looking equally morose. But after some time, Grimmjow noticed that Rukia had been somewhat fidgety throughout the meeting, in which they planned where they would search the next day. "Got something to say, shrimp?" he asked, startling her. Renji jumped in to defend her height, but she put a hand on his arm to stop him.

"No, it's…" She paused, staring down at the tabletop. "I don't want to assume the worst, but you know, before she left school, we found out that Orihime was…" Her sentence trailed off, and the five friends shifted uncomfortably, looking guilty. Grimmjow remembered Orihime telling him about her past as a prostitute, so casually that she may as well have been discussing the weather, and cursed under his breath. Nel had taken his hand, and he noticed that her fingers were shaking. So she knew as well.

"Alright," he said with a resigned sigh. "Tomorrow, we're going out into the red light districts."

…_Day Three…_

It was Thursday, and so Ulquiorra should have been expecting Starrk and Tia when they showed up at the door with Lilynette, dressed in all of her Girl Scout gear, but their intrusion into his quiet afternoon annoyed him nonetheless. "Hey, where's Orihime?" the girl asked with a distinctly false note of cheer, looking past him into the apartment. Nothing, save for three composition notebooks stacked on the dining table with a fourth one open next to it.

Ulquiorra blinked slowly. "She's not here," he said. Really, he had thought that his gossipy neighbors would all have heard by now. Perhaps the holidays were serving as a decent distraction.

"Oh," Lilynette's face fell. "We were hoping she would have come back by now."

He stared at her. "Why on Earth would she do that?" Both Starrk and Tia bristled protectively, and the former steered his little sister away from the door, suggesting that she go down to the elevator to wait for them. Lilynette complied reluctantly. Once she was a safe distance from the door, the basketball-playing couple turned on Ulquiorra with scowls.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Starrk demanded, "Why would you say something like that to her?"

"The fact that she is a child does not grant us permission to tell her lies," Ulquiorra replied tonelessly, his eyes narrowing at them. "And now that your curiosity has been satisfied, you can leave."

Starrk grunted irritably and walked off, following Lilynette. Tia, however, stayed put for a moment, her scarred face twisting into a look of animosity. "If anything happens to Orihime because of your utter stupidity," she growled, "I will never forgive you."

Ulquiorra didn't flinch. He waited until she had gotten a few feet down the hall before closing the door, returning to the dining table. His green eyes focused on the stack of notebooks, all of which had been filled since Tuesday evening. It was funny, but since Ms. Inoue had walked out, he hadn't been able to stop the music going through his head. Composition after composition had flown from his mind to his hand to the paper, and they were all beautiful, further proof that he didn't need the redheaded woman anymore. She had served her purpose a long time ago.

But it was almost troublesome, how the music kept coming, no breaks in between. He'd been glued to piano and pencil for the last two days, attempting to relieve the burden on his creativity, but the instant one idea was expressed he would get another. It was as if in the six years of silence, his subconscious had been putting these things together, and they were just now bursting out of him like the shattered fragments of some inner explosion.

Really, he didn't know why everyone was acting like the world was ending. Wherever she was, Ms. Inoue was alright, he was sure of it. All those months of improvement had to account for _something_. Maybe she had lost her cell phone, thus the reason she wasn't answering anybody's calls. Either way, it was none of his business.

Meanwhile, the search for Orihime continued throughout the entire city. Nnoitra, Szayel and Gin volunteered to help look as well, especially in the red light districts to avoid having to send the women into them. Nel and Tia ventured to Orihime's apartment building, which they got directions to from an increasingly agitated Rangiku, and spent a decent amount of time knocking on the paint-chipped door. No one answered; either she was out and about, or she'd flown the coop. They found the manager's apartment and tried to get into contact with Chizuru, but her girlfriend told them that she was going to be gone all day. "You haven't seen that cutie, Ms. Inoue? Hmm, can't say that I have either. Is something wrong with her?" she'd asked worriedly, to which they could only respond that they didn't know.

At the end of the day, the group once again turned up empty-handed, without so much as a hint to go off of. Perhaps she really _had _left the city. But where would she go? Did she have enough money to leave, or was she currently hitch-hiking across the country by offering her sexual services to grizzly trucker types? Or – the more realistic possibility that was driving everyone insane – was she hurt somewhere, dead in a ditch or kidnapped by a man like Aizen who would have his way with her, then put a bullet between her eyes?

She could have been anywhere in the city of millions, and considering her nature, that was a terrifying thought.

…_Day Four…_

"_Where is she_?"

Ulquiorra had been in the middle of a piece when Rangiku Matsumoto burst into his apartment. Really, didn't anyone knock anymore? He had so far spent the entire day reviewing his compositions, wondering which one he could play for the audience at Saturday's concert; Christmas songs would have been boring, and besides, he wasn't feeling altogether festive. With Gin and Grimmjow and Nel in tow, the three of them shouting variations of 'calm down' and 'you don't want to do this', the busty restaurant owner all but broke down the door. She probably shouldn't have, but Rangiku's mind was made up; disregarding the warnings of the others, she crossed the room and grabbed Ulquiorra by the shirt collar, yanking him away from the piano. "Answer me!"

He stared at her evenly, occasionally eyeing the hand that was currently wrinkling the fabric of his attire. "What are you talking about?"

Rangiku's eyes widened in fury. Wasn't he aware of the situation? Didn't he _care_? She shook him hard, hoping it would knock the sense back into him. "What the fuck do you think I'm talking about? Orihime Inoue! You know, twenty-one years old, red hair and generous bust, supposedly lived here with _you_ for the last few months?" she snapped. "Where did she go?"

Grimmjow was already preparing his excuses, waving his arms frantically. "I'm sorry, she took the key from me – "

"I tried to stop her," Nel offered, hovering by the front door.

"Ran, let him go. Please calm down," Gin tried, his arms lifted in self defense as he tried to get closer to his enraged girlfriend.

"_No!_" Rangiku yelled, turning back to Ulquiorra. "She hasn't come in to work all week! I tried to call her, but she didn't pick up! I even went by her old apartment and knocked on the door for a solid hour but nobody answered! And they," she pointed at Grimmjow and Nel, "and Gin and your neighbors and even Hime's old friends who never gave a damn about her have been searching for _days_, and here _you_ are sitting like everything is fine and dandy! Isn't that just a _little_ suspicious?" Ulquiorra said nothing, staring at her with the same even expression that he had given everyone else. "This has to be _your _fault! You're the last one who saw her!" The blond woman's blue eyes were full of tears that soon spilled over her cheeks as she let out a frustrated sob at Ulquiorra's silence. "Damn it, _tell me where she is_!" she screamed.

Whether it was the sight of her crying, the fact that he'd been so rudely ripped away from his piano-playing, or just all of the unnecessary trouble that he had endured since his birthday, something in Ulquiorra twisted as his patience broke like a bone. "_I don't know where she is_!" he snapped, grabbing Rangiku's wrists and easily prying her off of him, sending her staggering back into Gin. Grimmjow quickly got between them, but that did nothing to lessen Ulquiorra's rage as he glared over his friend's shoulder as if he weren't there. "Listen, woman, and actually use your brain to process what I'm telling you. Ms. Inoue is not the idiot protagonist of some melodramatic daytime soap opera. If she is truly angry with me, if she is _that upset_, then why the _fuck _would she tell me where she was going? She's smart! She doesn't _want _me to find her, or any of you either, for that matter!"

"Ulquiorra – !"

"_I'm not done_!" he yelled at Grimmjow, pushing him out of his way and advancing on Rangiku and Gin. "If you want to keep looking for her, then fine! But you _leave me out of this_. My business with Ms. Inoue is finished. She and I had an arrangement, an agreement. She wasn't going to stay here forever. You can pin the blame on me all you want; I'll gladly accept it, but the fact of the matter is that she would have gone eventually, and there's nothing that you or me or anyone else could have done about it! Now I _refuse_ take anymore of this shit in my own apartment." He pointed to the door. "Get out. All of you. If you step foot in here again, I will call the police." Grimmjow opened his mouth to protest, but Ulquiorra turned on him. "_All of you_," he repeated.

There was a moment of tense silence in which the two stood glaring at each other, but finally the Frenchman turned, motioning for Nel to back out of the door. Gin and the tearful Rangiku stared at Ulquiorra in shock, wondering if they had truly just witnessed him lose his temper like that, and then they had no choice but to follow Nel, with Grimmjow bringing up the rear. He looked back at Ulquiorra over his shoulder, but the pianist was patiently waiting for them to exit, the anger gone from his face, replaced by the same imperceptible mask he had worn in the days when they had first met, when he had been asked about his sudden inability to compose.

It was suffice to say that they now knew by Ulquiorra's explosion that he _had_ been affected by Orihime's departure; perhaps more than any of them had initially thought. And as the apartment door slammed shut in their wake, they wondered what exactly had happened between the pianist and the missing girl to make him act like this. Neither of the four could deny that they had heard the pain in his voice, lacing his blood, the drug that kept him within those silent walls while the rest of them killed themselves looking for Orihime. "We have to find her," Gin whispered, patting Rangiku's shoulder comfortingly as they made their way to the elevator, "and fast."

Inside, Ulquiorra went to the couch, settling there and lying on his back. He hadn't slept in his bed since Tuesday – like so many other things, he felt that he didn't deserve to. His hands shook with the need to be busy. He could rearrange the furniture, but somehow, he knew that he could turn his living room into his bedroom and it wouldn't make any difference. Lifting his arm to cover his eyes, he took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. Why couldn't he just sleep for the next two months, or three, or however long it would take for him to forget Orihime and how nice it was to see her smile, how much fun it was to retaliate in their prank war, how good it felt to hold her…

Ah, at least the furniture was helping: as he turned onto his side, facing away from the television and hoping that a nap would finish relaxing him, he noticed that her scent no longer lingered on the sofa, as it had the night that she had left. His apartment had forgotten her already. Why was it so hard for him to do the same?

…_Day Five…_

It was Saturday afternoon. Outside, the winter sun was shining as brightly as ever, doing its best to warm the cheeks of the people presently walking the streets of the city. Ulquiorra stood at his window, watching everybody pass by below. Their lives were in full swing, and he knew that he would soon be joining them, moving on and blending in before ascending above them again. He'd gotten a phone call earlier; somehow the record company executives had gotten wind of the fact that he would be performing tonight and had, in short, invited themselves to come. But Ulquiorra didn't mind. He had been planning on contacting them soon enough, to let them know that he would play professionally again, and they could send him wherever they wanted so long as he spent as little time in this horribly empty apartment as possible.

He had never noticed just how quiet it was. Too high up to hear the sounds of the street, surrounded by peaceful neighbors, and without the television or radio or _something _going, he could hear his own ears ringing, it was so eerily silent. It had been nicer, he thought, when he could at least pick up on movement if he listened hard enough. Breathing, shifting, the occasional giggle, _life_. It had been so much better than this stale atmosphere, than this pristine slice of upper-middle-class with its white walls and neutral rug and meticulously arranged furniture.

But he had no right to complain. He let the blinds fall back into place, turning and staring down at the composition notebooks sitting on the table. Pages filled with pieces of his very soul, songs sprung from the wells of his inspiration, something he had tried so hard to revive. So much so that he had lost sight of the one thing that his life as an orphan had made him crave so desperately:

Companionship. It didn't matter what kind, so long as someone was there. Someone to talk to, someone to spend time with, to perhaps argue and even be annoyed with.

Those white walls, those notebooks, that piano… they couldn't give him any of that. Perhaps that was why music had become so very important to him; He'd always considered the piano to be his best friend, a talent that he had been born with to provide him with some kind of joy when he was alone, but it couldn't talk to him. It could parrot whatever he made it say, but it could not speak for itself. As a kid he had tried to _make _it say something, anything, but all he heard was himself – a miserable child contemplating his loneliness, crying out with the desire to be acknowledged. His compositions had been his way of conveying the words and feelings that he could not.

He lifted one of the notebooks and opened to a random page, and as his eyes scanned the written notes, the music reproduced itself in his mind. What would somebody sitting in the audience think of this piece? Would they pick up on the remorse in the cadence, the apology in the decrescendo, the pain in the fermata, the guilt in the motif? Or would they snatch it away from him and make it theirs, twist it into whatever they wanted or needed to hear?

He supposed it wouldn't matter anyway; the one person who had inspired the songs was gone, vanished like some sort of apparition. Hell, if it weren't for the fact that everyone was searching for her, he would have already begun to wonder if she even existed – wasn't there the possibility that she could have been a product of his mind; an illusion created to get him playing the piano again? The notion wasn't all that farfetched. Apparently he would do _anything_ for the sake of his music, whether that was manipulating perfectly decent human beings, or making himself crazy.

How to be released from this painful delusion, then? His fingers slid up the page, smudging the pencil markings as they went by, then grasped the top edge of the paper. What would happen if…? He pulled the sheet down until it met with the resistance of the plastic spiral spine. Yes, what if… The muscle in his arm tightened, and he began to pull again, slowly ripping the page from the notebook. It came free easily, hanging from his right hand as his left held onto the rest. He stared at it a moment before letting it fall to the floor, a large part of him screaming to pick it up and put it back in its place as he watched it flutter to the carpet. But he ignored this part of himself – the monster that he had willingly become to serve his own interests – and grabbed another page, not hesitating before he freed it from the notebook with one sharp tug and carelessly threw it over his shoulder.

Perhaps if he kept doing this, he could atone for his sins somehow. It didn't matter if she was real or just a figment of his imagination; the universe would understand and, hopefully, relay the message. Page after page, Ulquiorra filled the apartment's stale and empty air with the savage sound of paper tearing from its binding, hoping that when it was over he could turn his head and find Orihime sitting on the couch, watching one of her ridiculous court shows and insulting either defendant or plaintiff or both. It didn't matter that he was being unreasonable; he didn't care if he was crazy, as long as he wasn't alone.

The sound of running footsteps broke his concentration, and he looked up towards the door in time to see it fly open, Grimmjow nearly tumbling over the threshold as he entered the apartment, completely out of breath. Ulquiorra turned himself to face the entrance with a page still in his hand. "What did I say yesterday?" he asked, his tone that of a parent scolding their child for eating anothercookie before dinner.

Grimmjow eyed the sheet music littering the floor, then held up his hand, doubled over and panting for breath. After a few seconds he straightened, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck, though he made no move to take off his scarf. "Just… hear me out… you can call the police later."

Ulquiorra sat on the surface of the dining table, sighing. He was way too lenient with this guy. "What is it?" he asked, watching the expression on his friend's face become grim.

"We found her."

…

Orihime once again felt like Wonder Woman, an amused smile stretching across her face as she stared at her hands in amazement. How was she moving her arms, let alone _walking _when her limbs felt like they weighed ten thousand pounds? Superpowers: it was the only rational explanation for this, she decided as she leaned back against the warm man upon whose lap she was seated and felt around behind her for the bottle she'd left on the bar. She had transcended humanity and become an all-powerful being. Yes, she thought, nearly falling off of the man's legs. An all-powerful, sentient being who couldn't feel a damn thing if she didn't want to.

It had taken a few days, but she'd finally done it: she had conquered that wretched pain. And how? She was finding it hard to remember, and all of the sudden she was really sleepy and wanted to curl up and take a nap, but she had a job to do. The nap could wait. What had she been thinking about? Ah, yes, the pain. She'd conquered the pain, but not really. She could still feel it, so she supposed she had actually failed, but she didn't have to be aware of it. That was the good thing. She could tune it out, ignore it if she wanted to. But how had she done it?

She took two gulps of beer, emptying her bottle. Hadn't been this. No, this hadn't done _shit_, she thought, and threw it to the ground in a sudden burst of anger, smiling when it exploded into a mass of uncountable shards. That was all she had done on Wednesday, and she might have cried, too, but she couldn't remember that very well either. Chizuru had been there, and they had been talking about stuff, and Orihime had been drinking and drinking until she'd practically thrown up her intestines. That hadn't been fun. Neither had the crying, because she told herself that she wasn't going to, but she ended up doing so anyway. Yes, she remembered. She'd cried alright. She'd cried harder than she ever had in her entire life. Haha, she was a liar, just like Ulquiorra. They were perfect for each other.

Oh, but he didn't want her. She'd broken all of his rules; even the cigarette one – she'd broken that one first – but that hadn't helped her either. God, _nothing _had helped. Not even physical pain. She looked at her hand again, at the makeshift bandage wrapped tightly around her left palm. What had happened there? Huh… she'd been cutting something, but she had been hung-over and shaky and had accidentally hurt herself. And she was so mad and frustrated – she remembered the screaming match she'd had with the walls right afterward – that she grasped the blade of the knife, squeezing and squeezing until she'd had to pry it out of her skin. But even the pain and the blood did nothing to make her feel better, and then the stupid thing had gotten infected so she'd poured alcohol all over the cut. That was supposed to heal things, right? She filled herself with alcohol too, trying to get at the wound that was festering in her heart, but it hadn't helped. Stupid beer.

And smoking had just made her smell bad, and her lungs burn. She didn't want to smoke anymore. It was disgusting. That was probably why she'd refused to smoke that one thing the medicine guy had offered her this morning… right, yeah, that was it! That's what had finally made the pain go away, but she hadn't wanted to smoke it, she told him. So he gave her a needle. She didn't like needles, either, but this needle didn't look so bad. It was tiny. Like getting a shot. She was giving herself medicine to feel better, and low and behold, she _was _better! It was miraculous. Such good medicine. Why hadn't she thought of that sooner? She had hardly stopped smiling ever since, something that she hadn't done in days. It felt good to smile. It felt good just to _exist_.

What else would feel good? This guy, she thought, who was holding onto her waist and laughing as she bumped against his shoulder. If Ulquiorra could make her feel good just by kissing her, then this guy could make her feel good too, right? Maybe she had been 'unlocked' somehow, and when she did have sex again it would be the wildest and craziest and most amazing pleasure that she could ever feel. This would be her first job since she had left Las Noches, and for only a lousy two hundred bucks at that, but she didn't care. She wanted to feel good. She would have taken fifty cents if it meant suppressing that God awful pain in her chest.

Man, it had been a weird day. Its surreal nature seemed to take hold of her, lifting the weight from her limbs, and she suddenly felt like she was floating. Maybe she'd bump right into the ceiling and be shred apart by the rotating fans, like in that Willy Wonka movie. Oh, right, she'd seen Grimmjow earlier, right after she had taken her medicine. What a nice surprise! She'd asked him what he was doing there, and he'd asked her what was wrong. Nothing, she'd told him. She was finally a-ok. And to prove it, she asked him how Ulquiorra was doing, to which Grimmjow had replied that he was a mess and she needed to go back to Las Noches. She didn't believe him, so she told him no and walked away. He didn't go after her either. Just like a man.

Ah, anyway, she wouldn't think about them. She had to concentrate on staying awake, because she had work to do, whenever this guy stopped talking to his friends. He'd paid for the entire day, so she really ought to have been listening to him, picking up cues on his personality to format her performance to suit him better. Her eyes closed, breathing slowing as she concentrated, trying to pay attention to what he was saying.

"None of your business, kid," he growled to someone across the room.

"Oh really?" Orihime tuned this out, hating conflict, and felt around for her other beer bottle; she'd had two. Where did the first one go? "Add a zero to whatever you paid for her, and I'll give you that much if you leave her to me." Whoa, wait. Her awareness snapped back into place. Were they talking about her?

The man grinned and chuckled. "That's two thousand dollars, pal," he taunted the second speaker.

A short silence, and then, "Alright, fine." Orihime lifted herself up and looked at her client. He was staring over her shoulder, the smile slipping off of his face, eyes widening and shimmering with a greedy gleam. She turned, too, wanting to see what he was so interested in, and nearly face-planted onto the floor.

Ulquiorra stood a few feet away, withdrawing several bills from his wallet with such a nonchalant expression that one would think he were paying for a stick of gum, and what had happened to his face? The entire side of it was bruised, his lip cut, the blood just barely dried. His green eyes met hers briefly, and there was something in them that made her entire body begin to shake with terror. No… what was he doing here? He wasn't supposed to be. No! She'd tried so hard to be better without him, to push Las Noches and everything that had happened in the last few months into the back of her mind to occupy the hole left behind by the realization of her feelings. But obviously, she hadn't tried hard enough. He lifted the small stack of bills and held them up for her client to see. "Two thousand dollars. No strings attached," he said flatly. "Now hand her over."

"No," she said, shaking her head, and stared up at the slightly overweight man – who was probably a grunt-and-curser, judging by his appearance – as pleadingly as she could manage. "No, he can't do that."

The man gave her a disinterested look. "Sorry, babe," he said before unceremoniously dumping her off of his lap. Orihime's feet hit the floor unevenly and she staggered, wobbling on her heels as she began to fall backwards, but a familiar arm caught her by the shoulders and steadied her. There was the scent of comfort and clean laundry again, so out of place amidst the stench of cigarettes and alcohol and cinnamon air fresheners. It made her heart lurch, the effects of her self-proclaimed medicine unable to stop her from hurting this time. And she thought back to the day that she had returned to his apartment for her anklet, how she'd felt like she hadn't belonged there. Was he experiencing the same thing right now, she wondered? She watched as Ulquiorra handed the money over to her ex-client, then turned without another word and began leading her to the bar's exit with less than gentle persuasion.

"No," Orihime said again, wishing the weight would come back into her limbs so that he couldn't move her. "No, I don't want to. Let me go!" she cried, sounding like a whining child. Ulquiorra didn't respond, forcing her to keep walking as he pushed the door open, a blast of cold air striking Orihime's face and startling her as everything became sharper, so bright and vivid that she had to force her eyes shut. Outside, Grimmjow's truck was parked on the curb, and the Frenchman himself stood on the passenger side, already opening the door to the row of backseats. "No!" She planted her heels into the cement sidewalk, but Ulquiorra easily yanked her forward and handed her off to Grimmjow, who apologized before throwing her into the cab. Were they seriously kidnapping her in broad daylight? Was nobody going to lift a hand to stop them? Oh, well, she was a prostitute, so it wasn't like she was all that important. The people around them must have figured that she'd asked for this. "I don't want to!" she yelled as they both climbed back into the truck. "Let me go! You can't do this!"

They were ignoring her. She might as well have been talking to a pair of boulders. She had half a mind to throw a tantrum and start shrieking, or even gesture to passing cars and pedestrians so that someone would try to stop them. But she felt so tired all of a sudden as her awareness slipped away from her again that she abruptly dozed off as they made their way back to Las Noches. When she became fully lucid, she was standing outside of Ulquiorra's door as he unlocked it and, with Grimmjow in tow, pulled her into the dark apartment. "No!" she cried, kicking up the papers littering the floor in her struggle.

Ulquiorra looked at his partner in crime. "Stay here," he said, "in case I decide to kill her." And then he began dragging her down the hallway, where it was even darker, saying nothing to relax Orihime, who was whimpering and feebly trying to pull her wrist out of his grip.

It had taken some convincing – in the form of a heated argument that ended with a punch to the face – for Ulquiorra to leave the apartment. He had been firm in his belief that he didn't deserve to go after Orihime, and even now he was certain that pulling her away from some beer-gutted, middle-aged man didn't make him anymore worthy of her, but he was so completely disgusted with the woman's behavior that it was temporarily overriding his common sense. He had been in denial; so convinced that she was strong enough to walk out of his life and make it on her own that he hadn't given any thought to the fact that she might blame herself for his mistake.

And then Grimmjow had told him _where _he'd found Orihime, and everything began to click in Ulquiorra's mind. The blue-haired man went on to make a perfectly valid argument after socking him: he didn't deserve Nel, but Orihime had forced him to go after her anyway, because Nel loved him and didn't give a damn about if _he_ believed he had any merit. Whether or not that applied here had yet to be determined; Ulquiorra didn't know what sort of feelings – other than hatred – Orihime had for him, but he was a thousand percent sure of his own.

The bedroom door hit its frame with a _bang_, causing Orihime to jolt as she cowered away from her former roommate. The curtains were drawn, letting in absolutely no sunlight save for two slivers on the sides that hit the walls with a faint glow. Ulquiorra came towards her. Considering her behavior, she was drunk out of her mind, which would either work in his favor or dramatically backfire. "What did you think you were doing?" he asked quietly.

Orihime didn't reply. Her back met the wall next to the bed, and she stood there, breathing unevenly, staring at him in horror. In the darkness, his anger seemed that much more frightening, all-encompassing, an explosion waiting to happen. "Well?" She shook her head, unable to think, her entire body heavy and light at the same time. She wanted to go to sleep. Her mouth was so dry, she couldn't even lick her lips; her tongue felt like sandpaper, glued to the space between her teeth. But somehow, she still managed to speak, working up enough defiance to glare at him through her moistening eyes.

"What do you care?"

His palms slammed into the wall on either side of her, causing her to cry out in alarm and raise her arms to shield herself, doing her best to shrink away from him, but there was nowhere to run. "You are trying my patience, Ms. Inoue. I asked you a question." He leaned closer to her, so close that if she lifted her head, they would have been nose-to-nose, and it hurt to remember how badly she had wanted to be with him like this just a few days ago. "Is that what you were after?" he asked her, and she could feel the fury coming off of him like heat. "Money and sex? Because I can give you both," he growled, "I can give you _plenty _of both. Is that what you want?"

"N-No," she whimpered, wishing she could shrink until she disappeared into nothing.

"What is it, then?" And he suddenly sounded so desperate that she wanted to look at him, but she was so scared, and the tears were pouring down her cheeks… "What can I give you that will make you stay?"

It wasn't fair. Orihime had tried so hard to make the pain go away, to forget him, and here she was, once again crying in his presence like some heartbroken high school girl. It just wasn't fair! Why did she have to fall in love with someone like him; someone so utterly poisonous, so unhealthy for her? Why? "Why are you doing this?" she sobbed, because she was so unsure, and she _needed_ to know. This man had lied to her, had used her and had let her walk away. What were his motives now, then? If he didn't need her anymore, why was he so interested in bringing her back, in keeping her with him? Wasn't he fine on his own? It was getting so hard to breathe, and she just barely managed to look into his eyes, that green that had taken on such an uncharacteristically soft quality that –

"I thought that would be obvious by now, woman."

The anger was gone. Orihime's breathing stopped altogether, her lungs forgetting how to work. His voice had been so strange when he'd said that, so gentle. How very unlike him, she thought. It was actually rather soothing. Such a relief, though her heart was still hurting and she was feeling slightly numb. So by saying that, did he mean…? Oh, it would be nice, but she'd have to ask him, because she didn't want to be misled again. She had to breathe first, though. She couldn't speak without air, and it was getting harder to think, too, which was a little distressing but he had a habit of shutting off her brain anyway.

Ulquiorra turned away from her, figuring that he'd scared her enough; she was already crying, but at least he'd managed to get his point across. Maybe now she would be willing to stick around, which gave them plenty of time to talk about…

A soft _thud _drew his attention, and he looked back over his shoulder. She'd collapsed. He frowned, facing her again. What was she doing? Oh, wait, she was drunk. Whatever amount of alcohol that she'd consumed prior to his arrival at the bar had finally floored her. "Ms. Inoue," he crouched down and reached out his hand to touch her, then stopped. Something was wrong. She wasn't sobbing, wasn't moving; and it was hard to see, but he was almost positive that –

She wasn't breathing.

"Ms. Inoue," he grabbed her and flipped her over onto her back, holding a hand in front of her face. No air came forth. A very cold feeling seeped into Ulquiorra as he moved his fingers to the pulse point at her neck and felt… nothing. His eyes widened. _No_. He felt again. This had to be some sort of mistake. She'd been awake and talking a second ago, how in the world did… no, this wasn't possible. "Orihime?" Perhaps the sound of her name would rouse her from what was sure to be a drunken stupor, a temporaryunconscious state. But she didn't move. There was no rise and fall of her chest, no flutter of her eyelids. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

And he was pretty sure that his entire world was beginning to unravel, to come apart at the seams. He wanted to close his eyes and wake up and find that it was still morning, that he'd done nothing and gone nowhere and this whole thing had never, ever happened. He remembered telling himself that it would be stupid to waste any more time with her when she could have been taken away at a moment's notice. He'd told himself, and yet he had still waited so long to go after her.

And now… now she was gone for good.

**To Be Continued**

**A/N: **Did you know that mixing heroin with alcohol can cause both heart and lung failure?

One chapter left… I feel so sad, in a happy way. Those of you who were waiting to kill me, feel free to make your attempts now, but do leave a review first!


	30. Curtain Call

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Bleach, any of its characters, or anything else I have mentioned in this story.

**Muse**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

**Curtain Call**

"_Ulquiorra…"_

He had never given so much thought to breathing in his entire life. Then again, who needed to? It was involuntary, a natural response, something that happened whether one wanted it to or not. The body needed oxygen, and so it was taken. Inhalation, lung expansion, exhalation, lungs deflate. Repeat. How could one simple function have such vital importance, enough to be a matter of life and death? He wasn't sure, but if she wouldn't do it, then he would just have to do it for her.

"_You_do _know that I'm a prostitute, right?"_

He did know, but he didn't care. It was insignificant, it didn't matter. All of those men that she had kissed before him, that she had given everything of herself to, with the exception of the heart that he had so carelessly crushed beneath his foot, the heart that he could no longer feel beating within her chest…

"_You're no different than them."_

Oh, but he was. Those men would have left her in the alley on that humid, raining night in August. They would have gone their merry ways and allowed her to get soaked, get sick, and perhaps choke on her own vomit before anyone could find her. But despite his selfish motives, he had brought her out of that dark and disgusting place. He'd given her a bed in his living room, free reign over his rigidly controlled domain, the freedom to do whatever she pleased with the fewest and simplest exceptions. He'd let her get away with hitting him, defying him, and even hiding his dining table chairs.

"_Why don't you just kick me out if you want me gone?"_

Because he didn't want her gone. The reasons had changed over time, but the simple fact was that he _needed_ her there, to keep him in line, to complain about his neurotic tendencies, to beg him to make her pancakes for breakfast. He had to have her, had to be able to see her every morning before he left to teach his piano lessons, to be able to sit down after a long day and listen to her rant about some customer at the diner who hadn't tipped her because they'd been impossible to please. And he would give anything, _anything_, even his own hands so that he could never play piano again, for her to just open her eyes.

"_Let me go."_

He wouldn't. He refused. He would never, ever let her go. Not if an earthquake hit the city and Las Noches began to collapse around them. Not if she'd told him that she hated him and wished he was dead and never wanted to see him again. Actually, no. That would be fine, perfectly alright with him if he could just have the reassurance that she was alive, existing, breathing _somewhere_. She didn't need to stay by his side, as much as he wanted her to, so long as she would just _breathe_. Oh God, please, let her breathe.

"_You're a life saver, Ulquiorra."_

If that was true, then it was time to prove it. He wasn't going to give up on her like everybody else in her life had. She was stronger than that; she'd demonstrated it so many times. She just needed a little help, and he was going to give it to her. It was the very least that he could do. He would breathe for her until she decided that she was ready to wake up, ready to try again. He would stay by her side, holding her up until she could walk on her own, even if her feet carried her somewhere far away from him. He'd replace bottles and cigarettes and a sea of faceless men. He would stand apart from everyone else as the one who carried her out of rock bottom, who pried her out of death's cold, immortal grip.

It was hard to concentrate on what was going on around him. He couldn't recall yelling for Grimmjow; hell, he couldn't remember saying anything at all. The vast Earth had shrunk down to the size of that room, to a bubble that contained just the two of them, one living and the other dead, his heart attempting to leap from his body and enter her own. Yes, he would give it if he could. Anything, _anything_ for her. She deserved it, and so much more.

He couldn't remember the door in the living room opening, the apartment filling with the footsteps and voices of strangers. He couldn't feel Grimmjow's hands, even as they seized his shoulders and pulled him away from her unmoving body with all the strength that he could muster, holding onto him even though he fought and kicked and yelled things that he couldn't hear into the silence that was once again taking hold of his life, invading his body, gripping his mind. But he did remember the futility of it all, sinking in and destroying his will so completely that he would have collapsed had he not been held back by his best friend, who shook him and pleaded with him to come to his senses. And finally, Ulquiorra obeyed. He stopped struggling, stopped moving and slumped forward, his head bowed in resignation as the paramedics took her away from him.

Then he was violently ill for a long time, in which he heard Grimmjow on the phone with Nel, and he could have sworn that the Frenchman was in tears, but it was all so fuzzy.

And he was driven to the hospital, because in his current state he could hardly lift his own head, let alone transport himself across the city.

The festive, multi-colored Christmas lights decorating the passing storefronts were like spiteful laughter thrown into his face. He closed his eyes, wondering why the world was still turning, why life had to go on like normal for everybody else. Next to him, Grimmjow stared out at the road ahead, his jaw set, as much in the mood to carry a conversation as Ulquiorra was at the moment. But they weren't the only ones; as they sat and waited for the traffic signal to change, Rangiku ran out of the Haineko Diner and scrambled into Gin's waiting car, promising to keep her employees posted; Szayel, Nnoitra and Nel were halfway to the hospital; Ichigo, Tatsuki, Rukia, Renji, Chad and Uryuu were running out of their dorm rooms into the cold sunset; Hitsugaya was putting the hospital address into Momo's GPS; and Lilynette was apologizing to her troop as she, Starrk and Tia left the gingerbread charity event behind.

The white complex of buildings loomed in front of Grimmjow's truck, large red letters labeling the emergency entrance where the occasional ambulance pulled in, lights and sirens screaming for attention. They found a temporary parking spot, and it took everything Ulquiorra had left in him to get out and walk up the half-frozen sidewalk to the doors that swung open before they were even upon them. It had been an hour, maybe two since Orihime had been taken in. Plenty of time for them to decide that she was beyond help and drape a white sheet over her body, hiding her face from the world that had never been kind to her.

Instead, they were presented to a man in a white coat who impersonally explained to them that Orihime had both alcohol and heroin in her system, as well as an infected wound on her left hand. She had been treated for all three, but was, presently, in a coma. A short argument about family later, they were allowed into the room to see her.

She was pale, an IV in her arm and an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose, her hair tangled beneath her head. Her clothing had been swapped out for a hospital gown, and she looked even sicker and thinner than the day she had turned up at Ulquiorra's door asking for a place to stay. But there were two reassuring elements in this scene: the shallow rise and fall of her chest, and the EKG dutifully keeping track of every beat of her heart.

Neither Ulquiorra nor Grimmjow said anything as Ulquiorra walked forward into the room, which was quiet save for the sound of the machines, and took a seat on the chair at the far side, where he would remain for the rest of the night. There was nothing left to say. All they could do now was wait.

…

Everyone reacted differently to the same emotion: tears, anger, and the brave few who managed to remain optimistic in the face of despair. But no one, at any time, blamed Ulquiorra for what had happened. He may as well have been comatose himself, considering the fact that he didn't move or speak, his green eyes fixed on a random floor tile between his feet. People were coming in and out all night: Zommari stopped by to offer prayers and charms; Renji, Ichigo and Chad made food runs when hunger struck those too stubborn to leave; Luppi showed up crying and dressed in black as if it were already time for the funeral. Chizuru and her girlfriend came in as well, lamenting the fact that they hadn't been able to stop Orihime from going out in her emotionally unstable state. Yammy appeared around sunrise, after he had found someone to pet-sit for him.

One of the only times Ulquiorra ever left the room was to talk to the doctors about who would be handling the medical expenses, as Orihime had no insurance and was close to broke. Otherwise, he remained a shadow in the corner, and everyone else stayed out of his way. If they wanted to know what had happened, they would take their questions to Grimmjow, but only when he went to get water – and tissues – for Nel, who hadn't stopped crying in the last several hours.

When the record company executives called to ask Ulquiorra why he hadn't shown up at the Christmas concert, the phone was handed to Chizuru and her girlfriend, who "politely" told them to fuck off. When his mother called a little while later, he took the phone and walked out, though a quick glance down the hall found him sitting on the floor at the end of the corridor, his back against the wall as he muttered an absent "mmhmm" every few seconds. Upon returning, he resumed his post, staying out of the sparse conversations that drifted around the room.

The hours went by and nothing changed. Sunday was quickly getting away from them, and soon everyone would reluctantly leave, for there was school and work to attend the next day. As much as they wanted it to, time wouldn't stop for them, and life would continue as it always did outside of whatever four walls contained them. But Ulquiorra would stay, piano lessons be damned, listening to every single one of Orihime's heartbeats until he passed out from sheer exhaustion. He wouldn't miss them; not when it had taken so much just to keep them going.

…

If this was death – heaven or hell – Orihime was not impressed. She'd heard all sorts of crap about the afterlife being either pain free or full of misery, but currently, she was somewhere in the middle. This had to have been the worst hangover she'd _ever_had: her temples were throbbing, her stomach was empty and cramping, she really had to pee, and she was pretty damn sure that she wasn't wearing any pants. Hadn't she learned this lesson that one and only time she'd tried hard drugs in the past? Yeah, never taking… whatever she'd been given, again.

Furthermore, there was this annoyingly loud noise that sounded like a whale was getting milked. Oddly enough, she recognized that noise from one too many girls' night outs. "Nel, I swear to God if Grimmjow broke up with you again, I'm going to saw his testicles off with a plastic spoon and super glue them to his forehead," she groaned. Attempting to lift a hand to her forehead, her eyes blinked open when she realized that there was something stuck to her arm. Was that an IV? What the hell? Oh great, she was in the hospital, wasn't she? As if the hangover wasn't bad enough; now there was going to be money to worry about!

Completely bewildered, she removed her arm and found half of Las Noches' tenants, a quarter of her coworkers at Haineko, and her high school friends staring down at her with wide eyes and gaping mouths. "Umm… hi?"

"Oh my God!"

"She's awake!"

"Orihime, you're okay!"

"We were so worried!"

"What the hell were you thinking, scaring us to death like that?"

So many voices. Orihime winced, wishing she could remember what she'd done to land herself in this situation. She'd pretty much been drunk out of her mind the entire week, then she'd taken an injection of _something_. Two beers later she had somehow ended up in Las Noches, getting yelled at by Ulquiorra, and now she was in the hospital, feeling like she'd been hit by a truck and being cried over like she had almost died. She took a moment to try and fill in the memory gap: either she had passed out from sheer intoxication, or she'd finally had sex with Ulquiorra and it had been so mind blowing that he'd knocked her unconscious. Gee, that would be embarrassing. How would they explain _that_one to their friends? Because if she knew Rangiku, she was _never_going to let her live it down.

Unfortunately for her pounding head, Nel was crying even louder now, and squeezing her to death between her arms and her massive boobs. And there were Rangiku and Momo, half-sobbing, half-yelling at her for disappearing without so much as a warning. Oh, right, she _had_ kind of run away. Wait, had they been looking for her this entire time? It would explain why Grimmjow had shown up in one of the city's sketchier districts with his engagement ring still on.

Come to think of it, they all looked pretty rough and rumpled, like they'd been at the hospital for an entire week. Rangiku wasn't even wearing any makeup. Damn it, now she felt guilty. "What day is it?" she asked, glancing around the room, but there were so many people there that she could hardly see the wall. Not that hospital walls were particularly interesting to begin with, but… Patting her sides in the hopes that she would find her cell phone buried in her pocket, it was then that she remembered the fact that she was in a hospital gown, and she self-consciously drew the blankets further up around her chest.

"It's Sunday, the sixth of December," Gin answered for her, a relieved smile on his face. "You've been out for almost twenty-four hours."

"And dead for almost ten minutes," Grimmjow muttered darkly, reminding them all why they were there in the first place. Orihime felt her heart stutter uncomfortably, which, embarrassingly enough, was picked up by the EKG.

"I… I died?"

"You had alcohol and heroin in your system, sweetie," Szayel told her, crossing his arms with a scowl. He obviously wasn't very proud of her. "They slowed your breathing so much that all the stress you were under finally took its toll. Hell, poor Ulquiorra had to bring you back to…" He trailed off, and as if on cue, the assembled turned their heads toward the window. Of course, Orihime couldn't see anything, so she was rather confused when Rukia suddenly took off running with a lame excuse about being hungry, followed by her redheaded fiancé. Rangiku tapped Gin on the shoulder and they tore out of the room as well, and pretty soon everyone had done the same, Nel tugging on Grimmjow's arm and giggling excitedly as they escaped into the hallway, closing the door behind them.

It was then that Orihime noticed the lone figure seated in a chair by the window to her left. Head bowed, stooped over, elbows and forearms resting on his thighs, black hair hiding most of his face from view, looking like he'd been dragged through every circle of hell and back. But as haggard and sick and different as he appeared, she knew who he was. She would have known him anywhere. "Hey," she said quietly, wondering where to begin in what was sure to be a very long, drawn-out apology. There were so many things to say, excuses that she knew she could have made… and yet, the way that his shoulders sagged at the sound of her voice, as if he'd spent the last twenty-four hours holding his breath, left her with no more words to speak.

"Hey."

From the first day they'd met, he'd opened up an entire frontier for them to explore together, and in a matter of minutes he had struck up a wildfire that had ravaged and consumed all of the ground that they had crossed. But as she stood there, staring ahead at the charred remains of the unknown, she could already see the tiny blades of green grass tentatively poking out of the ashes.

… … …

"Sacramento, San Francisco, Seattle… wait, what?" It was Christmas Eve, and Orihime stared down at the three small boxes that she had just laid into a bigger, plastic container, her eyebrows furrowing. Did San Francisco come before or after Sacramento? She wouldn't have even questioned it had there not been the gap in the name. Then again, she didn't have to alphabetize them, but she'd figured it would be easier this way in the long run.

In the background, gentle piano music mixed in with a multitude of clamoring voices as the chaos in the living room reached her through the window above the sink. Orihime set the mug boxes down and grabbed her cell phone off of the counter, turning to the refrigerator and scanning the various papers stuck to it until she found a yellow sticky note with a seven-digit number written in Ulquiorra's neat print. Sighing, she punched in the number, leaned back and tapped her foot impatiently as a long tone droned in her ear. Meanwhile, the music stopped, and an announcer came onto the radio station.

"_Merry Christmas, you're listening to KCLU. If you're just tuning in, we are fortunate enough to have twenty-six year old Ulquiorra Schiffer in the studio with us today. Those of you familiar with the classical music world might remember his..._"

"Yeah, yeah," Orihime muttered with a smile. After such a lengthy and dramatic disappearance, the media had already been buzzing with rumors when he'd announced his return. Then he'd sat down in front of an audience of thousands, performed his completed suite, and just like that, they were gathered in tears at his feet again. Luckily, he'd had plenty to feed them ever since.

Geez, how long ago had that even _been_? She'd already been appointed assistant manager at Haineko, and Ulquiorra had abruptly flown her out to San Antonio, Texas because he'd heard that they turned an entire river green on St. Patrick's Day – which, she had learned over time, translated to "I want to spend time with you." So it had been March of the previous year, then…

"_Merry Christmas, caller, you're on with KCLU_."

"Yes, hi, I've got a question for Mr. Schiffer," she spoke into the phone, studying her nails disinterestedly. "Does San Francisco come before or after Sacramento?"

"_P-Pardon?_" the announcer asked, followed by a silence, and then Ulquiorra replied.

"_After. But I already told you that you don't need to alphabetize – "_

"Thank you!" Orihime chirped and ended the call, turning back to the task at hand. Sure he _claimed_that she didn't have to, but she knew that he was secretly agonizing over it, and she'd be damned if she would let him worry about something so stupid because he wanted to spare her the effort. She picked up the mug boxes and set them into their rightful places as Ulquiorra sheepishly explained the situation to the announcer, who burst out laughing and made some snide comment about his own ex-wife.

"_You know, I saw the pictures of her – Orihime, right? – from that concert you did back in July. Beautiful woman, by the way. Err, how would you say she handles being married to a celebrity?"_

"_Very carefully_," Orihime mouthed as Ulquiorra said it, slipping the rest of the mugs into the container and putting the lid on it, clapping her hands together with satisfaction. Another task done! What was left of the kitchen stuff, then? She was pretty sure that they weren't going to need the blender anytime soon, unless she got a sudden craving for milkshakes, and that was doubtful. Her taste buds had been preoccupied with peanut butter and oranges lately.

_Crash!_

A chorus of barks started up, followed by a yellow Labrador bounding into the kitchen, chased by an energetic toddler. Orihime stuck her foot out, effectively stopping the dog from moving as she had seen Ulquiorra do back in Washington, and then reached down to pick up the squirming girl. "Misao," she said sternly, "did you break something in the living room?" A two second pause, and then Misao shook her head rapidly. Orihime's eyes narrowed. "You're a liar, just like your daddy. Fortunately you're extremely bad at it." She looked up just as Gin entered the kitchen, slightly winded. "You really ought to invest in one of those leash things now that she's mobile."

"Ah, she didn't mean no harm!" Gin took the strawberry blond toddler from Orihime's arms and grinned. "Isn't that right, Misao?" In response, the girl snapped on a fox-like smile identical to her father's that made a shiver run down Orihime's spine.

"That's… creepy, Gin, oh my God." She leaned down and grabbed the Labrador by the collar, dragging it out into the living room where a tired-looking Rangiku sat with an equally exhausted Nel and Grimmjow on the sofa, no doubt in the middle of offering them advice. A nearly bald baby boy was tucked into a carrier between them, sucking on a pacifier with an expression like he was about to raise hell at any moment. Yammy, Nnoitra, Starrk and Lilynette had commandeered the dining table for a poker game; Tia conferred with Szayel about her recently completed men's clothing; and Kira stood off to the side with Zommari and Luppi, contrasting yoga and some other extreme form of meditation. "Yammy!" Orihime yelled, unleashing the dog, "Keep an eye on him, would ya?"

"Sorry about that, Orihime," the behemoth of a man apologized sheepishly and began to scold the Labrador, which licked his wagging finger in response.

Sighing wearily, Orihime looked around for what had been broken during the chase, her eyes landing on a single ornament that had fallen away from the Christmas tree in the corner. Ah, thank goodness, it was still in one piece. She crossed the room and stooped over to retrieve it, then hung it back on its appointed branch. She'd hate for Ulquiorra to return from the station and find that her idea of inviting everyone over for a Secret Santa exchange had ended in chaos, as he had gloomily predicted. But it wasn't like he would be worrying about that for much longer.

"Yo, traitor number one, when's traitor number two getting here?" Rangiku called out to her as Gin settled onto the arm rest next to her with Misao.

Orihime rolled her eyes. "In another hour or so. The show's almost over." Having grown accustomed to the nickname in the last two months, she hadn't let it dampen her spirits in the slightest as the year grew closer to ending and the boxes continued to pile up around the apartment. Packing was a slow affair, considering the fact that neither she nor Ulquiorra were really up to it, as it brought them both a sense of indigestion – they refused to call it sadness – at the thought that, after talking about it for months, they were finally leaving. Sure she had her friends and their feelings of betrayal to consider, but every time she saw the picture of the recently completed house her excitement smothered all of the negativity. She still couldn't believe that it was _hers_: two stories, brick and wood, a perfectly groomed lawn, brand new, too many bedrooms to count, a master suite with a view.

The only problem was that it was in Washington. Hence, the riot that had been struck up by Nel, Szayel, Rangiku, and the college freshman Momo when she'd announced that she and Ulquiorra were leaving the city. Las Noches, they could understand. But why didn't they just move to the North side?

Orihime hadn't felt like going into the details. It was the whole "turning over a new leaf" thing; walking away from the city in which she and Ulquiorra had both suffered so much, distancing themselves from the painful memories and starting over fresh – together, of course.

Besides, it would be closer to work for Ulquiorra, who had to fly out to the Pacific Northwest whenever he was working on another piano collection. Orihime absolutely hated it when he was gone. She'd grown far too accustomed to sleeping in his arms every night, so when he was absent, she would stay up and channel surf between movies and infomercials until she crashed on the couch. Just like old times. She wasn't allowed to do so when he was there; from the day she'd come back from the hospital, he had banned her from the sofa. The memory still made her smile: he had literally dumped her onto his bed, then wordlessly got in with her, threw an arm around her waist and ordered her to go to sleep. She'd complied, perhaps out of shock, and had promptly become addicted to the proximity.

And on that note, it had taken a while for certain _other_ physical barriers to be crossed. He'd spent a good two months circling her as if she would disappear again, despite several reassurances that she would neither leave him nor die. Then, once he'd been satisfied that she was there to stay, he'd demonstrated just how different he was from every other man she had ever been with. Not rude, not rough, not impatient; he treated her as if she was the one who had never had sex before, and she might as well have been a virgin for all that she'd felt. She couldn't even put it to words; thus, when Rangiku and Nel had asked for the dirty details, all she'd managed to say was "He's the sighing type," which neither of them quite understood.

Presently, there was a knock on the door, which Szayel answered as he was the closest to it. Unfortunately the noise prompted Yammy's dog to bark, which startled baby Klaus Jaegerjaques and got him to start screaming, his distraught parents looking at each other anxiously. "_Are you sure you want to have another_?" Grimmjow asked Nel in French, to which she responded with a glare, and he sighed as he took the wailing infant from the carrier. "_Alright. At most, three more, but after that I'm cutting you off._"

Orihime assumed the hostess role as she went to greet Ichigo, Tatsuki, Rukia, Renji, Ishida and Chad. Goodness, it was getting way too cramped in there. Had the lobby not been occupied by a bunch of bingo-playing seniors, Orihime would have had the party move down there. But she supposed she would make it work; when would be the next time that she'd get to spend the holidays with them?

"I'm surprised you're still on your feet," Tatsuki said to her as they shared a quick hug. "Hasn't all of the packing wiped you out?"

"Psh, I'll be fine." Orihime waved her hand dismissively and pointed towards the Christmas tree. "Presents go underneath!" Not that there was room for anymore. The colorful array of neatly wrapped gifts had started to snake towards the hallway, the space below the tree full to bursting. Orihime headed back to the kitchen, contemplating the rekindled friendship between her and her high school group. They had been part of the "search and rescue" team that had spent five days looking for her when she'd left Las Noches two Decembers ago, and in the following months they had spent more and more time together, patching up old wounds. It had been much needed, Orihime thought, and enough to almost make her wish that she had stayed in school and graduated with them.

But if she'd done that, she never would have ended up on Ulquiorra's doorstep, and she could no longer imagine a life without him. It was so weird to think that a single decision could have led to them remaining perfect strangers. She'd have heard his old piano compositions playing in a bookstore or café, but that was as close as they would have gotten to meeting. Perhaps he would have even found himself another muse.

A jealous twinge caused her to frown. No freaking way was she going to let some bimbo move in and 'inspire' him. His newer pieces wouldn't have sounded anywhere near as good. At least, she liked to think so.

The radio show had wrapped up, another coming on to take its place, which meant that Ulquiorra would be on his way back soon. She unplugged the small stereo – it had been borrowed from Luppi – and set it back within its box, reminding herself to give it back before everybody left. Standing in the kitchen, she looked out into the living room, the scene framed by the rectangular opening above the sink: her friends, both new and old (with the exception of Momo and her boyfriend Toshiro, who were in Colorado with their families), gathered together for one last holiday celebration. Not unlike the Christmas tree, it was missing something crucial: the topper that completed its happy glow, but he would be there in a little while, after fighting the traffic of last minute shoppers.

Ah, damn it. She was getting too sentimental. If she started crying now, the whole party would fall to shambles, and she wanted to remember it as a good day. She could do all of her blubbering later.

A half-hour passed before Ulquiorra turned up. By then the poker game had ended, Misao and Klaus had been lulled to sleep, and the dog had calmed considerably. He was visibly relieved that the apartment hadn't been destroyed in his absence – Orihime complained that he didn't trust her to keep the peace – and apologized for his tardiness before signaling for the gift-giving to begin. Then he dutifully spent the next hour worrying about all the wrapping paper that would have to be picked out of the carpet.

…

"I'm so _tired_."

The party had ended just before ten o'clock, leaving the apartment vacant save for Ulquiorra and Orihime, who had collapsed onto the sofa after spending the next hour and a half cleaning. She stared at the blank television screen, blinking slowly as he grumbled beside her. "_You're_tired? At least you didn't have to drive across the city."

"I was on my feet all afternoon," she muttered, wriggling her swollen toes to work out the small cramps in her joints. They both sighed, the only light in the room coming from the tree, which stood in the corner by the dining table. Turning her head to look at him, Orihime caught his green eyes with her own, as he had been gazing at her as well. "It's too quiet in here. Fix it."

Ulquiorra glared, but stood up after another five seconds, holding his hand out to her. "Come on." He led her over to the piano, switching on the small lamp to illuminate the keys as Orihime slid onto the bench. Sitting to her left, he lifted the cover and rolled his shoulders as if he were preparing to swim laps around a pool. "What would you like to hear?"

"Doesn't matter," she smiled at him, watching as he placed his right hand down and started to play a simple melody. Leaning her head on his shoulder, she closed her eyes, thinking of everything that had happened since she had come to live with him. She'd quit drinking and smoking, had met the most amazing people on the planet, flew on a plane for the first time, and had nearly died twice. She'd gotten her first job, her GED, and was still dabbling in online courses while she decided what she wanted to do with her new life. She'd come to terms with her past, had faced her brother's grave with a smile, and had learned that love did indeed exist, in more forms than she could count.

Ulquiorra looked down at her, his fingers still moving over the keys, when he heard a sniffle. Her eyes were glossy, bottom lip trembling as if she were standing outside in the cold. "Are you upset, or is this you being emotional again?"

"Oh, both, I think," she said sadly, reaching up to wipe her eyes. "I'm really going to miss everyone."

"It's not like you'll never see them again," Ulquiorra replied as he added his left hand for the bass. "There's plenty of room in the house for visitors. Weren't you and Nelliel devising some sort of system for the holidays?"

Orihime nodded, letting out a half-sob, half-laugh. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I've been holding this in all day."

"It's alright. I know." Right, of course he did. He hadn't become her husband by being oblivious to her feelings. They said nothing else as he continued to play, the bittersweet song filling the apartment. It was short, though, and soon ended on a happy note. Orihime lifted her head from his shoulder and checked the time on the DVD player below the television. Ulquiorra looked as well. "Ah, it's midnight," he said as she turned back to him. He leaned in, then, planting a soft kiss on her lips. "Merry Christmas."

Orihime giggled. "Likewise," she told him before he kissed her again, his hand pushing the long red hair away from her face. "Oh!" The contact was broken as she cried out, suddenly drawing away.

"What is it?"

Her hand moved down to the growing lump below her stomach. "Seems like she wants to hear more of daddy's piano playing."

Ulquiorra sighed and shook his head, placing his own hand over Orihime's to feel the movement beneath it. "Well then," he said with the faintest of smiles, "if she insists."

**The End**

**A/N:**Oh, I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to… crap. I'm a sucker for happy endings. Let's answer some questions.

**There was no lemon in here.**Sure there was. Orihime's pregnant, isn't she? Haha, okay, let me be serious. The point of this fic was that our hero was a prostitute, recovering from a prostitute lifestyle. It would seem to me that her going crazy and having sex with Ulquiorra would have been kind of… counterproductive, don't you think? Furthermore, just because a story is rated M doesn't mean that it has to have sex in it. If you're really reading this for the sake of the smut… then wow, my feelings are kind of hurt. But I'll get over it after eating a chocolate chip cookie.

**You gave them a happy ending!**Of course! It had been planned from the start. I'm saving my tragedies for future projects. Not going to tell you which ones, though…

There is a sequel of sorts to this story, a series of ten one-shots entitled **Musings **that shows what happened between the hospital and the happy ending. So if you're curious, you can find via my profile page!

Thank you all _so_ much for making this story successful. Let us all keep our fingers crossed that Kubo will revive our beloved Numero Cuatro, and give him a happy ending as well. Until next time!

**/Princess Kitty1/**


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